The Foundation of Darkness
by Hyaci
Summary: A dark story about a dark Hermione. What if, instead of being a privileged daughter of dentists, she lived in a dingy little orphanage? A hopefully realistic approach to Hermione's descent into darkness... Dark Lady Hermione, Harmony pairing.
1. Chapter 1

Hi there! This is Hyaci!

This fanfic is a Harry Potter fanfic, and mainly focuses on what the ENTIRE series would have been like if Hermione had been an orphan. I hope you guys enjoy it 333

* * *

**Chapter 1: **A Demonstration

Hermione Granger lay listlessly in her bed, completely oblivious as to the activities of the other inhabitants of Wool's Orphanage. Her bushy hair cushioned her head in place of a pillow- a luxury the orphanage was unable to provide to its residents. She supposed she should be grateful that she was fed and clothed her whole life by the dingy little orphanage, but in her eyes, she could only see the inadequacy.

On a whim, she sat up on her bed to see what the other children were doing. She could discern two large shapes- adults, she thought- beyond a small screen that separated the living quarters from the office of the orphanage's director. Probably someone that wanted to adopt. They'd go for the little ones- they always had. Older children, such as herself, were forever doomed to stay in the orphanage, until they were deemed old enough to take care of themselves.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione could see a Julianna Cabol- a tiny girl of no more than four or five years, sobbing quietly to herself over what appeared to be a brown cardboard box. This stoked her interest, and she raised an eyebrow. Shaking her head, Hermione slowly walked over to ask the younger girl what was the matter.

As she approached, she could clearly see what was wrong. In the brown cardboard box was a hamster- dead. Only, that wasn't all. The hamster's limbs had been dismembered, and due to the sheer amount of blood on the sides of the cardboard box, she could tell that it had happened while the poor creature was still alive.

"Julianna," Hermione spoke, her eyes full of concern. "Julianna, tell me what's the matter."

Julianna turned, tears still streaming down her face. "Hammy died, Hermione. One of the boys took him away from me and gave him back like this."

Hermione closed her eyes, feeling anger well up within her. She'd known full well that boys could be nasty if they wanted- she'd just thought that they had… morals, standards. Apparently, she'd been wrong.

She opened her eyes, and knew what she had to do. Her eyes flashed coldly, like steel. She held her hands out to the little girl before her. "Give me the box, Julianna."

Julianna's eyes widened, and she contemplated the prospect, before handing the corpse over to Hermione. The older girl would make things right- she always knew how to.

With the cardboard box in her hands, Hermione made the long, defiant march over to the boy's side of the room, separated from the girl's side by a collapsible partition. She looked at all of the boys, her eyes immediately drawn to a snickering one, surrounded by his friends. Immediately, she knew he was the culprit, and she galumphed over.

"Hello there," she said in a cheerily dangerous tone. The others stiffened to hear her voice. They were scared of her- as they well should be. She was the oldest in the orphanage, and she had ways of making them never forget it.

"Antony, what you did to Hammy wasn't very nice."

The boy decided to stand his ground. A stupid decision undoubtedly made to impress his friends. "It's just a stupid hamster. Go buy another one or something."

Hermione's eyes flashed. "I'm afraid you're only half right, Antony. Hammy isn't a stupid hamster, he's a very special hamster."

"A hamster is a hamster. There's nothing special about it."

"Oh, but, Hammy can do things," Hermione smiled.

"No he can't, he's dead."

Hermione's smile grew ever wider. "Would you like a demonstration, Antony? I'm sure Hammy would be glad to perform."

Slowly, the limbs of the dismembered hamster began to twitch. Suddenly, all the parts were hovering in the air, twirling round and round like a morbid carousel, even moving up and down as a carousel pony would. Hermione's smile continued growing as boys before her began to exhibit classic signs of fear.

And as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The limbs that had once whirled in the air madly like a carnival ride fell onto the boy's lap, still twitching as if the wished to soar once more.

"Unless you want to be _punished_, Antony, I suggest you buy Julianna a replacement hamster."

With the threat hanging thickly in the air like a shroud, Hermione turned around and walked back to the girls' side of the room. She sat down next to Julianna, and began to give her comforting pats on the back. She did not notice the old, white-bearded man dressed in long robes with twinkling blue eyes standing behind her till he spoke.

"That was most extraordinary, Miss Granger."

"I was always extraordinary," Hermione said without turning around. She did not ask stupid questions- such as how he knew her name. For sure, he learned it from the Orphanage director. Instead, she felt a surge of hope, and dared herself to ask the important question.

"Are you going to adopt me?" Her voice was tinged with hope.

The old man surveyed her for a few moments, before replying in his kind, pitying tone, "No, I am not."

If Hermione was disappointed, she didn't show it. Her face remained impassive, and she returned her attention to the younger girl beside her, resuming the daunting task of cheering her up. But Julianna was already asleep.

"Miss Granger," the old man chose his words carefully, "I'm not sure if you know, but you are… for the lack of a better word, _different_."

Hermione smiled a bitter, cynical smile that had no business on the face of an eleven year old. "How kind of you to point out the obvious."

The old man chose to ignore her caustic statement. "There are others like you, out there. People who are different."

Without turning around to face him, she asked in a quiet voice, "Are you one of them? Are you… like me?"

"Yes. I run a school, where others like you come to learn to control their abilities."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

The old man nodded, and then waved his hand at one of the beds. Slowly, the sheets began to rise up, given a ghostly shape. Then, as the old man dropped his hand, the sheet also dropped. The two were both quiet for a moment, then:

"Abilities, you say. I have these… abilities," Hermione said.

"Yes."

She turned around, and looked straight into his piercing blue eyes, without flinching or backing down. The old man before her felt a disturbing sense of déjà vu, but ignored it.

"What are the limits of these abilities, sir?"

"Call me professor Dumbledore."

Hermione's eyes began to twinkle in amusement, making Dumbledore feel as if he was looking into a mirror of sorts. "I haven't agreed to attend your school yet, Mr. Dumbledore."

He laughed heartily. "You're very sharp, Miss Granger," he chuckled. "Very well, we may discard my title for the moment. You may call me Albus."

"Albus Dumbledore, is that your name?"

"Yes."

"You must have been teased for having an odd name. As I was."

"Don't let it get to you, Miss Granger. The teasing will follow you your whole life."

Hermione paused, and then apprehensively changed the subject to something else she wanted to know. "Do you know who my parents were?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded. "I thought that might be the case." She closed her eyed briefly, as if pensive, and without opening them, asked another question. "Were they special, like me? Like us?"

The old man shrugged, and her shoulders sagged. She should have known that he wouldn't have the answer to everything. A part of her did believe- did hope that her parents were indeed as special as she was, but another part entirely knew all too well that is was just as likely, if not more, that they were as mundane as everyone and everything else that she knew.

"So you're here to offer me attendance to your school?" Hermione inquired.

"That is correct."

"I expect I'll need materials, but I'm afraid I haven't got enough money to buy any."

Dumbledore nodded his head sagely. "I figured you wouldn't. It doesn't matter; Hogwarts has a fund to provide for those who require financial assistance. You may have to purchase your spellbooks secondhand, but-"

"Spellbooks," Hermione breathed reverently. She looked straight at Dumbledore with a look, a look that made him wonder if he'd had this conversation before, if he'd met this young lady before, because her eyes glinted with a madness that was unshakably familiar to him.

* * *

**Author's Note:**I mainly wrote this story because I was sick of reading fanfics that downplayed Hermione's abilities to add to Harry's. I'm sorry, but half those fanfics out there write shit about her. I'm sick of reading that she can't do wandless/nonverbal magic because she **can**. I'm sorry, but Harry's not the only one that can.

That's not to say she'll be using it in this story. I'm planning to let her powers advance at a reasonable pace in this fanfic, because I really don't like characters that just BECOME overpowered.

She's starting as a first year right now so don't expect ANY of the characters to run around casting dark magic or nonverbal magic. The first year just didn't happen that way.

Also, I'd like to say that I'll be researching spells, so that, with luck, I WON'T have to make any up. Any facts/spells/histories I use here will be straight out of the Wikia page. And what I remember from the series.

So you've read, and now, please review! I'll try to respond to every signed review. I pwomise!


	2. Chapter 2

Hyaci here!

I just wanted say once again that nearly ALL the information in here is taken from the Wikia and the book series. Even the stuff about Merlin.

Stuff in **bold **are directly from the book.

Here's chapter 2. I hope you guys like it 33

* * *

**Chapter 2: **Compartment Rendezvous

Hermione Granger walked along Platform Ten at King's Cross Station, her untamable bushy brown hair trailing behind her. She had buried her face into one of the books she'd bought, determined to learn as much about the wizarding world as she possibly could. A few steps behind her was a cart she had rented that was magically enchanted to follow her as she went.

Dumbledore hadn't had the time to escort her to buy her materials. He'd merely given her handful of coins which he'd been sure were more than sufficient to buy whatever she needed. And he was right, by the time she'd ticked off all of the items from the list, she still had quite a few of the large gold coins- galleons, he'd called them- left.

Her wand- vine wood, 10 and ¾ inches, dragon heartstring- was her favorite purchase. It had cost her only seven galleons- seven measly gold coins in exchange for a permanent entry into the wonderful world of magic. She was excited to find that the wand worked well for her- she had tried some simple spells, and had been able to cast most on her first and second tries.

Magic, it appeared, was largely methodical. Wand motion, incantation, and a thought of intent were all that was necessary to cast most spells. Of course, some spells required more power than others to cast, and some had different procedures, but a large part of their first year curriculum was comprised of standard spells.

After her shopping spree at Diagon Alley, she'd received directions- and a ticket- from Dumbledore, in order to reach the platform nine and three-quarters. Now, she stood at the threshold between two distinctly different worlds, nervous, but determined to overcome her anxiety. Dumbledore's instructions had been simple- walk straight into the barrier between the platforms nine and ten. She'd thought nothing of it then, but now, her logical mind was rejecting the very _idea_ of it.

She turned around, and grabbed her rented cart by the handle. She closed her eyes, and pushed forward, with brave, tottering steps, bracing herself for an unpleasant impact. An impact that never came.

Instead, when she opened her eyes, she had emerged into a whole different train station. It seemed as if everything had a sepia tint to it, from the faded red steam engine, to the sign overhead that read "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters". With a smile, she unloaded the entire contents of the cart into her trunk, and attempted to close it- something it just wouldn't do. Giving up, she lugged her trunk onto the train- where her ticket was collected- and into the first empty compartment she could find.

Quickly, she unloaded her trunk onto the seat across from her. Sorting through her things, she pulled out a simple non-magical padlock, and used it on the compartment door. She then grabbed the first book that caught her eye and began a reading session that was guaranteed to go uninterrupted.

She'd managed to finish nearly every book the night before- memorizing the course books by heart- and now was rereading _A History of Magic_. Although the author- Bathilda Bagshot- had a tendency to condense important information, and to ramble on and off subject, Hermione found it an interesting read. She was in the middle of reading about Harry Potter, when she heard a knock on her compartment door.

Hermione looked up, ready to tell her intruder off, when she came face to face with a tearful round-faced boy. Still, her anger overtook her concern, and she flashed him a cold look. He tearfully ran off, leaving her in silence once more.

Sometime afterwards, Hermione felt the urgent need to go to the toilet. She momentarily glanced at the number of the page she was on, closed the book, and undid the padlock. She was walking down the hallway towards the restroom, when she saw a ginger haired boy with a wand out, pointing at his rat. Another boy, with darker hair and eyes sat across from him, also staring intently at the rat.

Suddenly, she felt excited. She threw the door open, causing the two boys within to jump in surprise, and forced her way in. She brushed the darker haired boy out of the way, and took his place across from the boy with the wand out.

"**Are you doing magic?"** She asked, excited. At the boys' curt nods, she smiled. "**Let's see it then**!"

The boy across from her nodded, and she couldn't help but notice the smudge of dirt on his face as he looked down at his rat, and began to chant a phony-sounding spell. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened.

"**Are you sure it's a real spell**?" Hermione asked dubiously.

"'Course it is," he said irritably. "Fred and George said it was."

She looked at the ginger haired boy, thinking to herself that he was a bit… gullible. Shaking her head, she smiled, and said, "**Well, it's not very good is it? I've tried a few spells myself, and they've **_**all**_** worked for me**." Hermione put extra emphasis on the word 'all'. "I suppose I could teach them to you…"

The darker haired boy nodded eagerly at her offer. She smiled, and turned to him. "My name's Hermione Granger. What's yours?"

"Harry Potter."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, and she spoke in an awed tone. "**Are you really**? I've read at least a dozen books about you."

The boy who called himself Harry Potter nodded, as if that would affirm his identity. Then, he lifted up his jet black bangs so that Hermione could see the lightning shaped scar, slightly off center in the middle of his forehead.

"I suppose you don't need my help then, you probably know loads of magic." Only she noticed the slight jealousy mixed in her tone, apparently, because as she got up to leave, Harry grabbed her arm to prevent her from leaving.

"Well, even if you don't want to teach us, you could stay and talk…" He offered.

She debated her options in her head for a moment, and then nodded. Slowly, she sat back down, a cool smile plastered on her face. She looked at the ginger-haired boy uncertainly for his approval- although she would have stayed with or without it. The chance to befriend Harry Potter was just too much to miss.

For the longest time, Hermione had been an outcast. She hadn't had a single friend until Julianna had come to the orphanage, and because of that, she'd always felt a little lonely. Now, she imagined that if she befriended Harry- the famous Harry Potter- she could become popular- or at least, accepted- by association. She felt a little guilty for planning to use him like that, but she shoved that guilt into the back of her mind.

"That's Ron, by the way," Harry said, pointing at the ginger haired boy that sat across from her, who gave her a curt nod.

The three sat in an awkward silence for a few moments, before Hermione broke the silence with a question she'd been dying to ask.

"Do you know which houses you're going to be in?"

Harry merely shrugged, but Ron began to talk excessively: "Oh, I'm _definitely_ going to be in Gryffindor. My entire family did, you know, my mother, my father, my cousins and brothers, my-"

She made a mental note to make sure the sorting hat did not put her in Gryffindor. She'd wanted to be in that house originally, but after Ron's display… She turned, and could tell that Harry too was put off a bit by this display.

"I'll probably just go wherever they sort me," Harry said. "As long as it's not Slytherin." Ron nodded in agreement. Hermione, however, frowned.

"What's wrong with Slytherin?" she asked.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks. "Well, you see-" Ron started.

"Hagrid told me that all dark wizards were in Slytherin," Harry finished.

Hermione shook her head in amusement. "Not everyone in Slytherin is bad," she stated. "Or at least, it's highly unlikely. It's just that the qualities that House stands for fit into the equation for a dark arts practitioner- cunning and sly. I'm sure there are plenty of heroes that fit that description."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "I dunno. Never heard of a bloke from Slytherin that was a good guy.

"Merlin, Ron." Hermione shook her head. "Merlin was a Slytherin."

"Blimey, was he really? And I thought he liked muggles too…"

"Ron," Hermione said bluntly, "He did."

"Oh."

Harry snickered, and handed him a chocolate frog card that featured Merlin. "Maybe you should read them instead of just collecting them?"

Ron's freckles vanished into his face as he reddened, and he began to mutter under his breath. Hermione thought she heard the words "show-off" and "smart-arse", and raised an eyebrow.

Suddenly, the compartment door opened again, and three heads snapped towards it. Hermione had expected to see the round faced teary boy, but surprisingly, found herself face to face with what appeared to be a blonde boy and two extraordinarily ugly troll-human hybrids. It took her a moment to realize that they were in fact, people.

"**Is it true then**?" the blonde boy addressed Harry, a little venom in his voice. "**They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter was in this compartment. Is it you then**?"

Harry gave a curt nod to the boy, and Hermione thought she saw a brief look of dislike flash over his features, but as soon as she blinked, his face became unreadable.

"Yes."

"My name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Hermione quickly recognized that name. "Very prestigious and famous pureblood family," she recited without thinking. "The Malfoys are related to the Lestranges, the Blacks, the Greengrasses, and the Rosiers."

Malfoy whipped his head over to see who had spoken. He smirked approvingly. "You did your research I see. Are you one of us?"

"One of us?"

"Purebloods."

It took Hermione only a split second to answer. If this was what it took to be accepted in the wizarding world, she'd take it.

"Yes," she lied without a second thought.

"Which family?"

"Dagworth-Granger," Hermione said, naming an extinct family. She once again began quoting her studies. "My great-uncle **founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers**."

Malfoy nodded approvingly, before eyeing the third member of the group. "**No need to ask who you are,**" he sneered. "**Weasleys. Red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."**

He turned back to face Harry, and held out his hand. "You might want to be choosier about who you hang out with, Potter. She," he gestured at Hermione, "Is okay, but Weasley is a blood-traitor. They're nearly as bad as mudbloods, in my opinion."

Harry's expression was inscrutable, but he nevertheless shook the other boy's hand. At the sight of this, Ron seemed to sink into his seat.

"I expect we'll be seeing more of each other," Malfoy smiled. "Good day, Potter, Granger."

And as quickly as he came, he left. The compartment door slid shut, and the trio sat in silence.

Then, Harry spoke up. "If it means anything, Ron, I'd rather hang out with you than Malfoy any day."

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Again, everything is sourced from either the book series or the wikia.

Anyway, I drafted two versions of this chapter, and decided to use this one since I figured it'd be boring to read about Hermione buying her wand. This chapter, I hope, shows just how badly she wants attention and acceptance- two things she lacked at the orphanage.

No, I am NOT changing Hermione's blood heritage. She's just lying about it, is all. In fact, she doesn't know her heritage herself, so technically it's only a half-lie.

So you've read, and now, please review! I'll try to respond to every signed review. I pwomise!


	3. Chapter 3

Hi there, this is Hyaci!

I know I promised I'd make my chapters longer, but this chapter doesn't fit with anything else, so I can't really add on to it. I tried writing more, but nothing else works well with this chapter.

This chapter isn't written nearly as well as the others, but it was necessary.

* * *

**Chapter 3: **The Eagle and the Snake

The train ride only lasted about another five minutes after their encounter with Malfoy. Hermione excused herself to go pack her trunk, and once she had done so, she had lifted it, and dragged all the way to the end of the corridor, when the students were belatedly told to leave their baggage in the compartment. She was sorely tempted to take her things with her anyway, but decided against it, only taking along the wand she was unwilling to part with.

As soon as the train had ground to a complete stop, students immediately began crowding the hallways, all excited to have arrived at Hogwarts. Somehow, Hermione had managed to push her way to the front, and was among one of the first to exit onto the dark platform, illuminated by a single lamp held by an unusually large man.

Students were segregated by years, and first years were to follow the large man. Hermione scanned the crowd, and saw Harry alone, somewhere in the middle. Apparently, Ron had abandoned him in favor of being at the front.

Hermione pressed her way through the crowd, towards Harry. Occasionally she stepped on other student's toes, and less often, other students themselves. Eventually, she made it over to him, where he noticed her with a grateful expression.

"I think we're supposed to follow Hagrid," Harry said.

Hermione looked from Harry to the large man carrying the lamp, and nodded.

Hagrid led the first years into a steep narrow path that went on for quite some time. Eventually, a dark, glistening lake came into view, and the students made it down to the shore, where dozens of boats had apparently beached themselves. Across the lake, there was a large castle perched on a cliff. As the students, one by one, noticed the castle, each let out a quiet murmur of excitement, which, collectively, made too much noise.

"That's Hogwarts?" Harry's mouth was hanging open.

"Didn't you read _Hogwarts, A History_?" Hermione asked, "They describe it in great detail, and even have one or two illustrations."

"**No more'n four to a boat**," Hagrid called out loudly, effectively ending their conversation.

Everyone again pressed forward, while Harry and Hermione stuck close. Somehow, they ended up in a boat with Ron and the round faced boy, whose name, Hermione learned, was Neville. Apparently, he'd come to her compartment before to ask for help searching for his toad, Trevor. It was still missing.

"**Forward!**" Hagrid's voice rose above the students' conversations. Suddenly, as if at his command, all the boats departed from shore at once, gliding over the water, barely making a sound. Hermione wished she knew which spells had been cast to make the ride so smooth and quiet, but unfortunately, she hadn't come across anything remotely similar in any of the books that she had purchased from Diagon Alley.

"Hey Harry," she whispered.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Are we… friends?"

He was silent for a moment, as if contemplating her request, and for a terrible moment, Hermione thought she'd ruined any prospects of friendship with Harry Potter, and in extension, and chances of acceptance, by asking such a stupid question.

"Yes" he decided, surprising her. "But do you really want to be my friend?"

"Of course Harry!" Of course! She wanted acceptance and popularity! Who would be stupid enough to reject a chance at that? Even if she disliked Harry (which she didn't.) she would have pretended to like him just for the sake of acceptance!

The boat ride continued in relative silence, occasionally broken by Hagrid's grunts, and students' "oohs" and "aahs". Once in a while, Hermione had to duck her head at Hagrid's instructions in order to dodge an overhead arch or rock formation, but she was able to enjoy her boat ride nevertheless.

Once the boats had all docked (within a cavern, no less!), the students began to dismount onto crumbling marble steps. Hermione and Harry got out of the boat in quick succession of each other, while Ron was quite a bit slower, and Neville was still so upset about losing his toad that he hadn't noticed the boat stopped. In the end, Hagrid had to lift the tearful boy out of the boat himself.

"What's wrong with him?" Hermione whispered irritably, "It's just a toad."

Quickly, they ascended the steps, and they stopped when they arrived at a platform near the top. Hagrid made his way to the front, turned around and gave the crowd a quick scan. "**Everyone here**?" Without waiting for an answer, he spun around once more, and gave the huge oak front door three excessively loud knocks. The students began to murmur amongst themselves, and Hermione pointed out to Harry how Hagrid had damaged the door with his strength.

And as soon as Hagrid's hand left the wood on the third knock, the heavy door swung open, pushing Hagrid to the sidelines. Illuminated in the light was a shriveled up, stern looking woman dressed in velvety green robes. Her stereotypical witch's hat sat crinkled upon her graying hair, which was pulled back into a bun. A strict expression was plastered onto her face, and she continuously wrung her hands.

"**The firs' years, Professor McGonagall**."

"**Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.**"

Professor McGonagall turned on her heel, and led them past a huge corridor- so spacious that Hermione found it hard to make out the details of the paintings in the wall. She wound up and down small flights of stairs, until she reached a small room. All the students were ushered into the room, and were informed they were to stay there until the feast began.

They barely had time to rest for even a minute, before several transparent figures flew in through the wall. A quick count proved that there were twenty ghosts. Hermione smiled serenely at them, but the others gawked and pointed. Even Harry couldn't stifle a gasp. The eyes of the students followed the ghosts as they flew through a pair of double doors, which, as if sensing the ghosts' presences as a cue, opened slowly and utterly majestically.

The Great Hall was truly what it aspired to be- great. It was large and spacious, and the ceiling was indeed enchanted to mimic the sky outside. It was one thing to read about it in a book, another to imagine what it would look like, and something else entirely to see it for herself. Hermione had never seen anything so grand. In fact, she hadn't seen anything much nicer than her orphanage her entire life. She glanced around the entire hall, taking in every detail, even the most insignificant of which took her breath away.

She noticed Harry staring at the ceiling, entranced by the apparent movement of the stars across the artificial night sky. She leaned in next to him, and whispered, "**It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in **_**Hogwarts, A History**_."

Harry nodded absentmindedly, still transfixed by the realistic illusion. She couldn't blame him; in all honesty, she was too.

A loud scraping noise brought everyone's attention to the front. Professor McGonagall had dragged a small four legged stool out in front of the first years. Then, she pulled a worn looking wizard's hat from out of nowhere, and placed it directly on the stool. Hermione looked closely at the hat: she was sure that this was the infamous sorting hat she had read about in _Hogwarts, A History_.

As if to confirm her suspicions, a rip near the base of the hat opened in a mouth-like manner, and burst into song: a throaty, baritone voice.

_**You might belong in Gryffindor,**_

_**Where dwell the brave at heart,**_

_**Their daring, nerve, and chivalry**_

_**Set Gryffindors apart;**_

_**You might belong in Hufflepuff,**_

_**Where they are just and loyal,**_

_**Those patient Hufflepuffs are true**_

_**And unafraid of toil;**_

_**Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,**_

_**If you've a ready mind,**_

_**Where those of wit and learning,**_

_**Will always find their kind;**_

_**Or perhaps in Slytherin**_

_**You'll make your real friends,**_

_**Those cunning folk use any means**_

_**To achieve their ends.**_

_**So put me on! Don't be afraid **_**!**

_**And don't get in a flap**_**!**

_**You're in safe hands (though I have none)**_

_**For I'm a Thinking Cap**_**!"**

Once the hat fell silent, an outrageous amount of applause rang through the hall. In fact, Hermione thought she saw Dumbledore rise up in standing ovation by the staff table up front. But, once she blinked, he was seated once more, his eyes twinkling merrily.

The sorting began right away, with the first girl being immediately declared a Hufflepuff. Hermione watched nervously as one by one, the students were called up to the pointy old wizard hat and were each sent to the houses they fit best. Slowly, the crowd began thinning, and before long, it was her name that Professor McGonagall called up for sorting.

"Granger, Hermione."

Hermione held her head high in the air as she strode confidently over to the stool. She picked up the hat with her nimble fingers and gently placed it on her head, before sitting back onto the stool.

"Ah," a small voice appeared in her head. "Well organized thoughts, you have there, Miss Granger. But quite a bit of ambition as well… Talent, plenty of it… where do you belong though? By the Ravenclaws, where your knowledge will be put to use? Or by the Gryffindors?"

When the sorting hat suggested she be placed into Gryffindor, Hermione's mind involuntarily flashed to that one ginger-haired boy on the train- Ron Weasley. Immediately, she felt a strong disdain well up within her, and apparently, the ratty hat on her head could feel it too, because as soon as she felt it, she heard the hat emphatically exclaim, "RAVENCLAW!"

Feeling herself fill up with pride, she took the hat off her head and strode over to the Ravenclaw table, where she seated herself between a rather runty looking boy, and a rather haughty Asian girl. As soon as she sat down, the girl turned to her and tried to strike up a conversation.

"Hi, I'm Cho Chang," the girl smiled cheerfully, "What's your name?"

"Hermione," she replied. "Er, could we resume this conversation later? I want to watch my friend get sorted first."

Cho looked slightly dismayed, but shrugged. "Talk to you later then," she continued to smile brightly.

Hermione turned back to look at Harry. She smiled uncertainly, and suddenly began to feel uncomfortable when he smiled back at her. She turned back to the front just in time to see Malfoy place the sorting hat on his head. Before even a second had passed, he had been sorted into Slytherin, something he was very pleased about, judging from the look on his face.

She watched as one by one, the students were sorted into various houses. Slowly, the Ravenclaw table began to fill up, to the point where she found it hard to move her arms, since she was squeezed so tightly between Cho and the runty boy. She was nodding off, when she heard professor McGonagall call out, in her authoritative voice, "Potter, Harry."

Immediately, the entire hall fell silent, only interrupted occasionally by gasps and conspiratorial whispering. Harry turned and looked at her one more time, his eyes showing just how scared he was in that moment. As she looked in his scared, green eyes, the guilt Hermione felt for using him began to resurface. But once he turned his attention back to the sorting hat, breaking off eye contact, that guilt was instantly forgotten. She watched, her fingers crossed, that he would end up in-

"Slytherin!"

Loud and thunderous applause ripped through the entire Slytherin table, whereas the other tables only produced some quiet, disappointing claps. As Harry walked over to the Slytherin table, his eyes searched the crowd for her. When their eyes met, he shot her a rueful smile, before making his way over and sitting down in an empty spot.

She continued to look at him, for a full minute, before lowering her gaze to her hands in her lap. Then, she turned, and smiled at Cho.

"About that conversation earlier…"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Like I said, this chapter isn't necessarily well written or interesting, but was needed in order to further the plot.

So you've read, and now, please review! I'll try to respond to every signed review. I pwomise!

EDIT: Some issues have been pointed out by the wonderful GenetiX23 that could result from placing Harry in Gryffindor. So, I have changed it so he is in Slytherin.


	4. Chapter 4

Hyaci here! I hope you guys like this chapter! It's not as good as it could be, but I'm trying to update as quickly as possible. I'll probably edit it or completely rewrite it later, so don't be surprised if you find changes later!

* * *

**Chapter 4:**Rock Cakes and Tea

Hermione was sitting primly at her desk, a large transfiguration textbook open before her. Her eyes were glued on Professor McGonagall, and she listened in rapture to the lecture, afraid she might miss something of utter importance that could jeopardize her chances of turning the matchstick in her hand into a needle- their current assignment.

Earlier, the entire class had watched openmouthed as Professor McGonagall had transformed her desk- grade book and all- into a pig. Everyone had wanted to start transfiguring things right away. That incomprehensively stupid Gryffindor boy- Ron wasn't it? - Actually tried to wave his wand and repeat the incantation. She had to admit it was funny when the spell backfired and caused an explosion instead. It was even funnier when he received detention for not paying attention.

Once he'd been shipped off to the hospital wing to assess the damage done, professor McGonagall began a lengthy discussion about the theory behind transfiguration. While all the students politely listened, Hermione felt that only she and a few other Ravenclaws actually managed to learn from the theory. The rest of the students were eager to try it hands on, even after Ron's explosive display.

When they finally got to the actual transfiguration, many of the students found it disappointing that they had to start with turning a matchstick into a needle- until it turned out that none of the students had made a difference to their matches on the first try. At the end of class, Hermione swelled with pride when McGonagall praised her in front of the class for making her match shiny and sharp. Although this caused a few of the Gryffindors to shake their heads and call her a know-it-all (including Ron, who returned to class while McGonagall was complimenting her transfiguration), the Ravenclaws were even friendlier to her after that. She assumed they had accepted her due to her precociousness.

The next class was one that she shared with Harry- DADA. Although she'd looked forward to the class itself, Hermione was much more interested in maintaining her friendship with the Boy Who Lived. If she did, she could perhaps establish friendly relations with his fellow Slytherins. When she arrived at the classroom, she caught his eye, and made a point of sitting next to him, in the front of the class.

Quirrell turned out to be a fairly incompetent teacher, so rather than listening to him stuttering about his unbelievable defeat of a vampire, she instead chose to pass the time by solidifying her bond with Harry. She chose a rather inelegant way of doing so- passing notes.

_Isn't the class boring?_

Harry read the note with an inscrutable expression, then began scrawling something on it, before passing it back to her.

_It's sort of a letdown._

Hermione sniffed as she read this, and then something struck her. She quickly wrote something on the piece of parchment before handing it back to Harry.

_Do you smell something?_

She noticed that Harry began to sniff the air, wrinkled his nose, and began to scribble on the note.

_Garlic. Definitely garlic._

Right, that smell was garlic. No wonder it reminded her of the orphanage's spaghetti. She continued reading Harry's note.

_I think it's coming from Quirrell's turban._

She stifled a few giggles, and Quirrell stiffened in the front of the class. For a moment, she thought she was going to get reprimanded, but the professor was far too timid to actually punish her, and ended up ignoring her and Harry's fits of laughter throughout the class.

Quirrell was, to put it frankly, very likely a fraud. He tried to regale the class with tales of his wit and courage when dealing with zombies, which were largely ineffective due to his speech habits. Many of the students taunted him about his speech disorder, and even Hermione made a jibe at it once or twice. By the time they were dismissed from class, she could have sworn that he was tearing up.

Unfortunately, their schedules conflicted after DADA. Harry had double potions with the Gryffindors, and she had Care of Magical Creatures. They both made slightly reluctant goodbyes, and headed to their respective classes.

As soon as Harry was no longer in sight, several students rushed over to Hermione to bombard her with questions.

"What's your name?"

"Are you really friends with Harry Potter?"

* * *

The only times that Hermione could see Cho and her new friend Marietta (one of the girls who'd approached Hermione after class, and coincidentally, one of Cho's best friends,) were during meals. Since Cho and Marietta were in their second year, they shared none of their classes with Hermione. The only times their schedules seemed to align were during breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"So," Cho said with an ever-cheerful smile, "Are you sick? Don't you like lunch? Why don't you eat your food instead of picking at it?"

"I suppose I'm too excited about learning new things," Hermione said.

Cho shook her head. "That's not a good enough excuse. You can't learn on an empty stomach."

"I have before," Marietta supplied.

"Shush," Cho said in mock anger. "We're supposed to get Hermione to eat, not to encourage studying without nourishment." She paused. "You know full well that was for you to lose weight."

Marietta feigned shock. "Cho!" She squealed in mock horror. "You're not supposed to tell anyone about that!"

"It's alright," Cho cooed soothingly, "Everybody knows you were a downright whale last year…"

Hermione couldn't help but shake her head and smile at the girls' antics. She returned her attention to her meal, but when she looked up, she immediately caught Harry's gaze, all the way from over at the Slytherin table. His green, almond shaped gaze, seemingly unfathomable. Friendly eyes- accusing eyes.

They grinned at each other, and she was the first to look away, averting her gaze.

* * *

Hermione's favorite subject was Charms, for several reasons. First and foremost was that she herself enjoyed performing charms; they were easier to do than most other spells, and quite enjoyable too. Before she'd gone to school, she'd used the unlocking and reparation charms to a proficient degree based on theory alone, but some of the other spells were less user-friendly and were easier to learn about hands on.

Another reason was that charms, to a degree, were more practical to learn and use when compared to the more complicated magic of transfiguration. Hermione was thrilled to finally learn something that had a practical everyday use- as opposed to potions and DADA, two highly specialized subjects that would only come in handy in a highly unlikely situation. In Charms, however, she was going to be taught spells she could use to move things, wash things, cook things. The usefulness of the spells she'd learned, to her highly organized mind, meant that the class was ultimately the one that she preferred.

Last and least, Harry was in her class. There were many benefits to this: if the opportunity presented itself, she would be able to flaunt her closeness with him. If it didn't, Harry was always entertaining, useful to pass the time after she'd finished the assignment ahead of everybody else. She particularly loved it when he'd make disparaging remarks about the other students- it made her feel like _she _was the one that was accepted, and the others were in need of acceptance.

Though she liked Charms, she couldn't help but feel that her teacher was ridiculous. She liked Professor Flitwick well enough, but she disliked the fact that he required all the students to understand the theory behind the fundamentals of charms (In other words, score an 'Acceptable' in his diagnostic test) before he was willing to teach anybody anything. As a result, his class was comprised of writing essays and taking tests.

On her second day in charms (her fourth official day at school, a Friday), Professor Flitwick assigned an essay on the practical uses of the Hover Charm. While the other students were brainstorming ideas for their essay, Hermione was busy inscribing her essay on a particularly long piece of parchment. When the others were ready to write, Hermione was already finished, and desperately bored.

Harry was busy, still working on the second paragraph of his essay, and in no mood or condition to provide her with entertainment. Sighing to herself, Hermione pulled out one of her textbooks and began to read.

She lost herself in the book for nearly half an hour before Harry nudged her, signifying that he was finished with his essay as well. She looked up at the clock, surmising that there were about ten minutes left of class. Quietly, she closed the book, and slipped it back into her schoolbag. Surreptitiously, she picked up the note Harry had casually dropped when he'd nudged her.

_Want to go to Hagrid's with me later? I think he's upset with me being in Slytherin, and I need a mediator._

Hagrid? The gamekeeper?

_Sure. Why not?_

Her friendship with Harry was still tentatively beginning. She still had to nurture it, cultivate it before she could assure herself that it was stable. So even if she'd wanted to spend her free Friday afternoon in the library, she'd have to go anyway.

* * *

After their classes, but before dinner, Harry and Hermione made their way across the grounds to Hagrid's dilapidated miniscule hut perched on the edge of the Forbidden forest. Both she and Harry wrinkled their noses at the horrid smell emanating from the hut, but neither of them said anything about it.

Harry hesitated, before knocking on the door. There was a loud commotion on the other side, sounds of scrambling, and barking. The two first years stood there, unsure of what to do or what to think, when the door burst open, knocking Harry back several steps.

"Sorry there, Harry," Hagrid said. A large dog poked his head out of the hut, with a hungry look on his face. "**Back, Fang- back**!"

The hut was just as small inside as it appeared outside, Hermione found out. There was just one room- a cramped, messy, room with meat strung from the ceiling that Hermione had to make sure to dodge. An irregularly shaped bed was pushed against the corner, and although it was certainly large, Hermione doubted that Hagrid could comfortably fit on it.

"**Make yerselves at home**," Hagrid said, taking his eyes off his dog, who took the opportunity to start licking Hermione's hands. Perhaps it wasn't hunger she'd seen in the dog's face, but excitement.

She felt his sharp and slimy teeth bite her hand, and she shuddered, pulling her hand back. No, she decided, it had been hunger.

"This is Hermione," Harry said to Hagrid, who was making some very putrid tea and nasty looking rock cakes.

"Hello," Hermione said pleasantly, extending a small hand out to the apparently gentle, of oversized man before her. "My name is Hermione Granger."

Hagrid eyed her tie. "Made it into Ravenclaw, eh?" he asked gruffly. "An' you, Harry, a Slytherin, imagine that."

Hermione swore she could feel Harry wince, and shrink beside her.

"It was the sorting hat's decision, not mine," he said defensively. Hermione snorted- if the sorting hat took her preferences to heart, it would have undoubtedly done the same for Harry Potter- the boy who lived.

"Yeah, sure, sure. I'm surprised they haven' set you up against freaks like me yet."

The conversation took a much more agreeable turn afterward, with none of them pulling the issue of Houses up again. Harry and Hagrid were in the middle of a friendly conversation about various staff members and their differing opinions of each and every one, when Hermione spotted a piece of paper under the tea cozy. It turned out to be an issue of the _Daily Prophet._

"Gringrotts Break-in," Hermione said in a shrill voice. "I thought Gringrotts has the best security in the wizarding world."

"Nah, that'd be Hogwarts," Hagrid said between bites of his rock cake, while Harry grabbed the newspaper article to read it for himself.

"So much for impregnable defenses," Hermione muttered. She eyed the rock cakes with a distasteful look on her face, nausea welling up within her, but hunger dominating her senses. She reluctantly reached for the cakes.

"**Hagrid**," Harry's surprised voice came, "**That Gringrotts break-in happened on my birthday. It might've been happening while we were there**!"

* * *

Harry and Hermione were walking back towards the castle from Hagrid's hut, both stuffed full with his unsavory rock cakes, and more than willing to skip dinner. Hermione was beginning to feel queasy, and was about to make a desperate bid to run for the toilets, when she heard an annoying voice that just _had_ to grate against her ears.

"OI!"

Hermione turned around with a frosty look in her eyes, finding herself face to face with the redheaded freak she and Harry had sat with on the train. There was still a spot of dirt on his face, so Hermione surmised that either he just attracted dirt like a magnet, or he rarely took a shower. She suspected the former, but because of the smell he exuded, she couldn't be sure.

"Yes?"

Ron's face was red- whether from the apparently exhausting task of walking or because he was angry she just didn't know. "I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to Harry." He turned to Harry, and smiled. "You wanna go hang out now? You don't have to be bored to death by Miss Know-it-all anymore."

"I wasn't boring Harry to death," Hermione said indignantly, "We just came back from Hagrid's. Didn't we Harry?"

Harry looked conflicted. "Well- er, what happened was-"

"You don't need to make excuses for her," Ron scoffed. "I know you only hang around her because you feel sorry for her, cause she's lonely." He smiled, and patted Harry on the back. "Even if you're a Slytherin, we can still be friends. That bloke- Merlin, he was a good guy and he was in Slytherin, so y'know, you might be the same. I read about that somewhere."

"You did not," Hermione screeched, "I told you about that!"

The redheaded boy turned back to Hermione, an aggressive look on his face. For one moment, Hermione thought he was going to hit her. Instead, he pointed his nasty finger with long, dirty fingernails at her, and narrowed his eyes.

"You think Harry'd wanna be friends with someone like you?" Ron said. "No offense, but you're no fun. The only reason he's nice to you is so he can copy your homework or something. He'd want to be friends with people like _me._" He paused. "I'm only saying this because I feel sorry about you being used."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you rethink that statement, Ron? Harry," she gestured at the other boy with the unruly black hair and startling green eyes, "is in _Slytherin_. They don't make their friends based purely on entertainment value." She sniffed contemptuously. "Or in your case, comedic value. They befriend others based on usefulness. Look at Voldemort for example. The people he thought were the most useful were the closest ones to him. People like you? They were _minions_."

Both of them continued to bicker on and on, spitting angry words at each other, battling over Harry's friendship, until Harry became infinitely annoyed at their argument. "Stop," Harry said.

The fight ground to a halt as the two of them turned towards Harry, faces still puffed up in self-righteous anger. Quickly, the Slytherin gears of cunning in Harry's head began to run.

"You can both be my friends," Harry said. Surely, he thought to himself, two friends would be more useful than one friend alone.

Similar thoughts were running in Hermione's head. Surely two minions would be better than just one. Of course, Harry would be more useful as a friend than Ron, but if she could make the effort to be civil- or god forbid, even friendly- with Ron, then perhaps he could be put to use later in life.

"Let's all be friends," Hermione smiled her voice extraordinarily saccharine, "with each other."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Although I like this chapter better than the previous one, It's still really... just me getting through more necessary scenes. I'm trying to take the time to show how the relationships between the characters work before I get the story started in earnest.

So you've read, and now, please review! I'll try to respond to every signed review. I pwomise!


	5. Chapter 5

Hyaci here! I'm sorry for the long wait, but I had a bit of writer's block. It's all fine now, so no worries!

* * *

**Chapter 5:** On the Subject of Trolls

Hermione sat in the library, her eyes rapturously absorbing every word that she could read. She was studying for a particularly difficult transfiguration essay that she had to write for extra credit, but she'd gotten sidetracked- by a book about the various magical plants and their uses. She was reading up about Gillyweed, when she felt a pair of hands snake around her face and over her eyes.

Her eyes covered, she tried to envision the person behind her. Her first thought was Cho- she normally did things like this to announce her arrival in an obnoxious and mischievous way. But, when Hermione thought about it logically, there was no way these hands belonged to Cho's. They weren't soft enough, for one, and they didn't smell like the noxious Dittany Perfume Cho was immensely fond of. In fact, when she sniffed the hand, it smelled like the round faced boy from the train…

"Neville?" she asked disdainfully.

"Not quite." Harry sounded disappointed. He slowly removed his hands from her face, and she turned around and looked directly at him. She noticed that his hair looked messier than usual, his face was flushed, his eyes were full of excitement, and he was slightly short of breath.

"Were you snogging Neville?" she asked in a horrified tone, her mind now forever tainted by the mental image she had just brought to mind.

Harry looked revolted. "No! There's no way I'd snog Neville even if I swung that way!"

"Then why do you smell like him?"

An adorable grin broke across Harry's face, and his eyes lighted up. "I joined the quidditch team!"

She looked at him suspiciously. "Are you… evading my question?"

He shook his head emphatically, began to make wild gestured with his head, and babbled incoherently. Hermione raised an eyebrow, and reached out and touched his arm to slow him down.

"You're talking too fast," she said amusedly.

"How much did you catch?"

"Nothing; you'll have to tell me again from the beginning."

So he did- he told her about how he and his friend Draco- who was one of her friends by extension, but he rarely interacted with her- after noticing each other's flying talents during the first class with Madam Hooch, conspired to steal and play with Neville's remembrall, and make a place for themselves on the quidditch team. The plan was put into use in the second flying lesson. Luckily Snape just _happened _to be around at the time (he'd been informed of their plans) while Harry made a spectacular save and caught the remembrall. Rather than punishing the two, he pulled strings to replace the current, incompetent seeker with Harry.

"Well, you certainly had quite a day," Hermione remarked, a little stunned that Harry was a bit more cunning than she'd expected. "But I can't say I'm surprised."

"You're not surprised?"

"No," she asserted. "It runs in the blood after all."

"It- what? Runs in the blood?"

"You didn't know?" Hermione asked, thoroughly surprised. "You're father was a chaser for the Gryffindor team back in the seventies. They said he could have gone on to play professionally- only he became an Auror instead."

"An auror? What's that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sometimes, I forget that you aren't as well read as I am."

"Yeah," Harry said, "And I didn't have the prior learning that purebloods like you have."

Hermione involuntarily winced. Her lie still hadn't been outed, and she was extraordinarily nervous that whenever it was mentioned, it would be. She was on shaky ground.

"An auror is employed by the ministry to hunt down dark wizards," Hermione explained.

"Oh, I see," Harry nodded. "Doesn't explain how you know about my dad though."

"Common knowledge. At least, it is if you pass by the trophy room. Your father has a medal or two there, and a plaque."

Harry nodded in understanding, and slowly pulled out the chair next to her, before sitting down on it and peering over to look at her book. "What are you reading about?"

"Magical plants. It's really interesting."

"For herbology?"

"No," she said, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. "I got sidetracked. I was supposed to be working on my extra credit transfiguration essay." She grimaced. "There's a lot of theory behind the concept of it I find incredibly difficult to understand. Such as- what happens to the energy of an animal when you vanish it? According to muggle physics, energy can't be created or destroyed…"

Her companion nodded absentmindedly, looking at her intensely for a few moments. She started to feel a little apprehensive, and said, "Harry?"

He shook himself out of his trance. "Oh, what, Hermione?"

"I was just pointing out how muggle physics contrast with magical laws."

For a second, Harry studied her intently, then he said, "Hermione, aren't you a pureblood?"

"Yes." The answer came a little too quickly.

"How do you know about muggle physics?"

Hermione froze. A hole in her story- a hole she dug herself and subsequently fell into. She knew she slipped up, and could see that Harry's interest was piqued. Suddenly, her palm started to sweat. Should she tell the truth- that she didn't know if she was really a pureblood or not? That she'd read about physics in a muggle library? Would that alienate Harry? Possibly- and that, would, in extension, alienate her other friends. No, she had to come up with a story, and _fast_.

"My _cousin_," Hermione lied, trying to put as much contempt into the word as possible, "Is a _squib_, and she works in the muggle world as a physics professor. She bought me a textbook for my birthday, and as an avid reader, I couldn't help myself."

"A squib?"

"You know, a non-magical person in a magical family."

"No, I didn't know," Harry marveled. "I always learn something new about the magical world when I talk with you."

"Yes, well," Hermione said flustered, "You could probably learn the same things from Ron or Draco. It's common knowledge, nothing special."

Harry shook his head amusedly. "Anyway, since you know so much about transfiguration and how it fits in with the laws of physics, maybe you could help me with my essay."

Eager to escape the subject, Hermione was quite happy to oblige.

* * *

At the Halloween feast, Hermione was sitting between Cho and Marietta, cheerlessly looking at the piece of chicken on her plate. She had passed up the pumpkin pie and the giant candy corn, and had gone for the healthier food instead. After all, a healthy body made a healthy mind, and a fat body made the mind gluttonous.

Halfway through the meal, Cho got up. Somehow, the boy she had been talking to- a _very_ handsome Roger Davies- had upset her. She ran off , through the hall doors, and off to who knows where. As if seeing the worried look on Hermione's face, Marietta leaned in, and said, "I'll go comfort her. She just needs a good cry in the bathroom." She got up and left before Hermione could volunteer her assistance, leaving her to her own devices.

Bored, she peered around the hall to see what each of her friends were doing: Ron was wolfing down various foods, some saliva dribbling hideously down his chin. She shuddered, and instead turned to the Slytherin table, where she saw Harry and Draco deep in conversation, their own plates only half eaten. Hermione narrowed her eyes in some jealousy- feeling rather possessive of her friend. But the feeling only lasted a moment because, rather suddenly, Professor Quirrell burst in. He'd been inconspicuously absent, but now every witch and wizard watched him as he sprinted up towards Dumbledore, and said in a rather smooth voice- unusual for him, "**Troll- in the dungeons- thought you ought to know**."

And just as suddenly as he had entered, he fainted, collapsing at the feet of the headmaster, a mess of robes and fabric. The entire student body waited for just a moment, for the situation to sink in, before bursting into an uproar. Hermione sneaked a glance over at the Slytherin table, where nearly all the students seemed white with terror. Their common room was situated _in_ the dungeons.

Harry too was pale. However, his face was unreadable- if he was afraid, it did not make its way across his face. Beside him, Draco stared deeply into his hands, fear evident in his every action, if not on his features.

The loud sound of firecrackers was all that Dumbledore required to rein in the attention of the school. He spoke in an authoritative voice she hadn't heard him use since their first meeting: "**Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately.**"

As soon as he finished speaking, the prefects were up, and ushering the crowd out of the hall. Hermione sprang up, and made her way over to where Harry was standing. "Harry," she hissed loudly, fighting for his attention.

"Hermione?"

"My friend- she doesn't know about the troll!"

"Who?"

"Cho Chang! Asian girl, this tall, second year?"

Hermione could see an internal debate Harry was having with himself. Several emotions flitted through his face- fear, surprise, worry- before he steeled his features back to their usual blank state. He studied her for a minute, before protesting weakly, "She'll be fine..."

"You really think so?" she asked dubiously.

Harry opened his mouth silently, hesitantly, before shaking his head. "No."

"Then come with me! She's in the Girl's bathroom!"

She was afraid, truly afraid that she might lose Cho and Marietta- two of her few friends, two of the first few friends she had. She pulled Harry with her as fast as she could, red marks making their way onto Harry's right forearm, her nails biting into his skin. The rounded past the Hufflepuffs, before slipping into an empty corridor and sprinting for the girl's bathroom.

They had just made it to the end of the corridor when they heard loud, heavy footsteps behind them. Hermione groaned, and pulled Harry behind a large stone Griffin.

They stayed there, pressed against each other, Hermione slightly uncomfortable with the forced proximity. His green eyes trained on her brown ones, his hands slightly sweaty and grasping her wrist, his breath loud and warm in her ears, on her skin, damp and smelling slightly of pumpkin pie…

Slowly, she peered out from behind her hiding place, just to catch a billowy black cloak flourish itself, before heading to the third floor corridor.

"Snape- what's he doing here?"

"Beats me," Harry shrugged, his face slightly flushed.

Hermione nodded, then, remembering the task at hand, dragged Harry out and towards the girl's bathroom. Suddenly, she came to a halt so suddenly that Harry, carried by momentum, bumped into her back. "What the-"

In front of them was a very hideous looking troll, peering into a small room indecisively. As they watched, it had an epiphany, and forced its way in. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Hermione looked on in horror.

"Harry- that's the girl's bathroom!"

Harry sucked in a breath, nodded, and prodded Hermione on. Gingerly, the two of them edged on, towards what was most likely impending doom. They nearly turned around when they heard Marietta's bloodcurdling scream, but the thought of Hermione's friends broken and limp on the floor had Hermione pulling Harry in with her.

Once they entered, they were immediately met with a spray of water, from a sink the troll had demolished with its club. They could see Cho cowering in the corner, with Marietta in front of her, shaking in fear, yet still holding a wand, determined to protect her friend.

"Distract it Harry," she hissed. He nodded, and ran towards the troll, as Hermione's feet propelled her towards the two Ravenclaws.

"Are you okay?"

Marietta managed to muster up a weak and ineffectual, "I'm f-fine," while Cho sat in a puddle of water, quivering in fear and pointing her finger at the troll.

After making sure they were okay, Hermione turned around, just in time to see Harry on the troll's shoulder, his wand jabbed into its eye, dripping with troll blood and mucus. Obviously, he had tried to poke it up a nostril, but it hadn't worked out.

Quickly, Hermione sent knockback jinxes at the troll, only to have them bounce off its skin without even leaving a mark. She then tried a _Rictumsempera_, but that didn't work either. She let out a frustrated yell, which caught the troll's attention. Quickly, it swung a club at her, which she quickly calculated that she couldn't dodge. She did the first thing that came to her mind.

"_Flipendo!_"

The club was thrown out of the troll's hands. Slowly, dumbly, and stupidly, he stared at his empty hand, not quite sure what to do. During this window of opportunity, Hermione began to plan what to do.

_Think, think back to your classes! Transfiguration? No, the troll is too big to turn into a needle. Charms? I can't levitate something as big as the troll. Besides- Harry was on its shoulders. I could lift my friends to safety, but then the troll would notice, and reach for its god-forsaken club- wait! The club!_

The troll seemed to have the same thought process, and slowly reached for the club, before it was yanked out of ranger by Hermione's hovering charm. While the troll was still wondering what was happening, Hermione tremblingly lifted the club- and gave it a twirl, before bonking the troll on the leg. Immediately, the troll fell to its knees, roared in angry pain, reached for its shin bone, and inadvertently flung Harry over to where the girls were standing, where he smashed into the wall, then fell down, limp, blood streaming down the side of his head.

Immediately, rage overtook Hermione. How dare the troll hurt her steady source of friends? Her never ending supply of popularity? Of acceptance? She stood coldly, now all emotions other than anger wiped from her mind, fueling her spell. The club danced with deadly precision, smashing into the troll over and over, making sure to avoid Harry's wand still stuck in the troll's horrendous eyes. A few minutes later, the club lowered itself onto the quivering mass of bloody meat that was once a troll.

Quietly, with Cho's and Marietta's eyes on her, Hermione strutted over to the troll, and yanked Harry's wand from the troll's eye. She cleaned it on her robe, before turning back, and placing it on Harry's limp figure.

Slowly, the emotions began to filter themselves into her mind, and tears began to form in her eyes. Was this the end of her acceptance? So far, many of her friendships were based on Harry. She had hopes in developing some of them into stronger bonds, but if Harry died, perhaps she'd never get the chance. Was this the end of her friendship with Harry? Something that brought her opportunities and smidgens of- satisfaction? Security? She couldn't name the feeling…

She sat numbly, not even noticing when Marietta left to get the teachers, or when she returned with them. She watched as Madame Pomfrey loaded Harry onto a stretcher and levitated him away. She trailed after them, looking intensely at Harry, trying to avoid the gaping head wound she knew she had been a cause of in several ways.

"Harry," Hermione begged, "Please be okay."

* * *

**A/N: **NO I AM NOT MAKING HERMIONE OVERPOWERED.

I just assumed that, after the first blow knocked out the troll, it would be super easy for her to mutilate it.

I tried my best on this chapter, I really did. Please read and review, reviews make me feel warm and toasty inside. I'll respond to all signed reviews, that's a promise.


	6. Chapter 6

Hyaci here. Ugh, so sorry for the long wait- I went through three versions of this chapter, and none of them sounded _right_. So, I instead went for this amalgam of the three, and it sounds _much _better.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Snape and the Broomstick**

It was not until she had seen Harry safely to the hospital wing did the repercussions of Hermione's herculean feat catch up with her. Presently, she was doubled over in excruciating pain by Harry's bedside, unwilling to leave her- dare she say- best friend. Unwilling not merely because of her sentimental need to make sure Harry was alright, but also because if she tried to move, she would suffer. As it was, she tried to blink back her tears of pain, but her exhausted body was just in no shape to resist the urge to cry.

So, there she sat, hunched over Harry Potter's bedside, seemingly weeping her heart out. If any bystander had been there to witness the scene, they might have assumed that Hermione was expressing her extreme sadness over the ordeal her friend had undergone, but anyone who _really _knew Hermione- that is to say, no one- would have known that, although she did indeed feel sorrow and remorse over what had happened to her friend, the tears in her eyes were the direct result of pain and fear over not knowing of the origins of said pain.

She suspected that what had happened had permanently taken a toll on her, but she wasn't sure, and was afraid to confirm her hypothesis. However, none of the teachers shared in this fear, and Professor Flitwick, her head of house, was currently working with Madame Pomfrey to figure out why his star pupil was in such suffering.

After many diagnostic tests, the mediwitch came to a decidedly less grim diagnosis. She strode over purposefully to where Hermione was sitting, and whispered to her, "You just exceeded your limits. An hour or two of rest should make you as good as new."

So Hermione was forced to put her sore and utterly tired self to rest, with the aid of one of Pomfrey's sleeping draughts. She suspected, however, that the potion would not act as an analgesic as well, merely as a barbiturate. In order to mitigate the pain, Hermione resorted to muggle painkillers, namely, morphine. It worked surprisingly well, and shortly after, she fell into a deep and painless sleep.

When she awoke, Hermione found that she was lying in a hospital wing cot, with her eyes closed and somehow brimming with hot, unshed tears that had sprung forth while she was asleep. Now that her pain was gone, she could focus her mind solely on the fact that her friend was in what was probably painful and undeniably terrible suffering. If she was still in the bed she had put herself to sleep on just what was definitely only a few hours previously, than Harry was on a bed close to her own, just out of reach. If she truly wanted- needed- to, she could open her eyes and look straight into his face, see his peaceful expression, and delude herself with hope that clashed with both logic and probability that he would be all right.

Even in her exhausted sleep, she had heard the words, "internal damage" and "coma", and knew that any hope Harry had for a full recovery was thin. Although there were potions and spells to aid in and speed up his recovery, mask any scars, and reduce possible side effects, there wasn't a spell or draught in the entirety of the world that could initialize his condition. Nothing could make him as good as new.

Perhaps Snape should begin the search for a new seeker.

She choked out a bitter laugh. Apparently, the morbidity of the situation failed to affect her sense of humor in the least.

Her eyes still closed, Hermione listened to Harry's soft breathing, felt the warmth of a ray of sunlight shining down on her face, tasted the bitter aftertaste of the sleeping draught that had evidently worn off entirely. She listened for what could have been seconds, minutes, hours, or days. She felt the heat of the sun for an eternity.

* * *

She was released later that day, into the school of students that would undoubtedly point at her and whisper when she walked their way. Rounding the corner, a couple of Hufflepuffs proved her hypothesis right, peering at her curiously, their mouths moving without sound, somewhat resembling two oversized goldfish. Hermione looked up and made eye contact, which sent them running fearfully in the other direction. They'd heard the rumors- how she had possibly caused the ruination of their famous and well appreciated idol, Harry Potter.

"_Look at her!"_

"_Is that-"_

"_Yes, the know-it-all witch who just _had _to show off and defeat the troll."_

"_She killed Harry Potter, she did."_

"_Did she? Last I checked, she just left him for dead at the hospital wing."_

"_Right you are, that's what she did. In my opinion, we should all just avoid her from here on out. She'll be the death of us like she was to the boy-who-lived."_

From class to class, Hermione drifted. Her teachers were nice- they always were, save for Snape. The students however, even those who she'd considered friends before the troll incident (with the exceptions of Marietta and Cho, both of whom remained friends with her,) were curt, and somehow, she got the feeling that they couldn't wait to be out of her presence. Friendship, it seemed, was a fickle thing.

Sometimes, she would notice Slytherins watching her slyly, and whispering obviously hateful things amongst themselves. They'd hated her for taking out their seeker- they were practicing with Malfoy filling the position now, but still held out hope for Harry's recovery, no matter how unlikely. Whatever could be done to spite Hermione- to effectively communicate the despair that they felt at the prospect of heading into the first Quidditch game without a competent seeker- they did it, without a second thought. She would catch some slipping things into her food, hiding dangerous materials in her favorite library books. Hermione avoided both dinner and the library from then on, opting instead to spend time with Harry at the hospital wing.

Sometimes, at the hospital wing, she felt like she was being watched, but nothing ever came of it. Eventually, she grew to the point where she could ignore the feeling entirely, allowing every day to have that elusive normalcy that she preferred over her current situation/

It was on one such day, when she was sitting by Harry's bedside, holding Harry's hand, praying fervently, willing him to just _wake up already_, that the first sign of hope appeared.

The limp hand that she held began to slowly, but surely _grasp her hand_.

She sucked in a breath at the tightening of his grip. Surely- this was some kind of false alarm, something cruel to raise her hopes, and then send them crashing down on her in a matter of seconds when Harry would die. But that wasn't it- no, the hand held onto hers tightly, as if it was a lifeline, and he began to stir.

"Harry?" Her voice trembled, husky from underuse. She hadn't really spoken since she'd been ostracized.

As if in response- or perhaps it was merely a spasm- the hand briefly contracted around hers, proving that he was, perhaps, on the road to recovery.

Excitedly, she began to shout out incoherently, hoping that someone would hear her, and if they couldn't interpret her wild noises, would at least be intrigued enough to come survey the situation. She was hopeful, but mostly alarmed, because she didn't know what protocol dictated a person should do should such an event arise.

It worked. Madame Pomfrey came running out of her office, wand in hand. She looked at Hermione, confusedly. Nothing had changed, as far as she could tell.

"He squeezed my hand," Hermione whispered.

The mediwitch's eyes widened, and she quickly cast a few diagnostic spells on the boy who lay comatose on the cot. After confirming Hermione's statement, she nodded, and began to work on him, fervently, perhaps in silent gratitude of what he had done to Voldemort only a few years prior. Certainly, she had never worked this fast- although, Hermione had only seen her work on Cho and herself, and they had never been in the precarious medical situation Harry was currently undergoing. Still, it was a bit of a stretch to imagine that the nurse wasn't at least a little partial to the little wizard on the cot who had saved the entire wizarding world from the most evil villain of all time.

And when Harry finally opened his eyes, they were just as green and as bright as she remembered them. Yes, Hermione knew he would never be as good as new, never be as whole as he once was- after all, he had suffered minor internal injuries to some of his organs, and he _had_ hit his head hard on the wall of a girl's lavatory- but he was definitely going to be okay. Perhaps there were flowers blooming out there somewhere.

* * *

It was like the troll incident never happened- very few people ever mentioned it outright (although most would secretly gossip), not even the participants. The effects of it, however, were keenly felt. Harry and Hermione had become much closer afterwards, and even her friendships with Cho and Marietta had been bolstered by a small degree. The four of them could, once in a while, when there was less homework than usual, or if Harry didn't have Quidditch practice- apparently, his injuries didn't affect his performance, as they had healed nearly completely, and the fact that most of the injuries had been internal meant that they would never obstruct his seeking abilities- be seen walking and talking amongst themselves on the school grounds.

Ron was one of the few people who thrived on the altercation with the troll however; he told everyone that would listen that he had been part of it, and took to following the four of them around as to insinuate that he was one of them. Naturally, nearly everybody believed him, while the "Golden Quartet"- as they were now referred to derogatively by a few unsavory teachers- merely viewed him as an unnecessary inconvenience, that was so insignificant they wouldn't even take the time to rebuke him. Besides, he was harmless- too stupid to truly ever be anything more than a pain in the neck. So, he was allowed to tag along with them and leech on their newfound infamy.

Hermione, still acting the part of the perfect friend, was required to enthusiastically support Harry in a Quidditch match against Gryffindor. Frankly, Hermione had as much interest in Quidditch as she had in befriending a troll- she'd rather do his homework for him, or even take his tests- but hid her unenthusiastic response when Harry approached her to talk her into watching the match.

"Sure I will," Hermione had said with a smile plastered onto her face. In reality, she was a bit tense about Quidditch. Ever since Harry had received a Nimbus 2000, all Cho (an avid Quidditch enthusiast, and a budding seeker herself) and he seemed to talk about anymore were various strategies to catch the Snitch. Hermione occasionally lent an ear with polite boredom, but was usually excluded from such conversations.

So, Hermione resolved that she would pretend to like the sport for the sake of inclusion in their conversations. She would spend some of her free time (of which she had more of than any other first year, mainly from finishing her work early) researching about Quidditch trivia. Occasionally, she would learn one or two interesting things, but more than often, she would fall asleep halfway through a book, heavily bored by the subject covered.

Presently, Hermione was heavily wrapped in many layers of scarves and sweaters, in the stand, watching Harry do complex and dangerous stunts in the air that offered little to no advantage in the match against Gryffindor. Lee Jordan was snidely commentating on this.

"Look at Potter showing off- was that supposed to be a wrongski feint? That was hilarious it was!"

A pause, laughter ringing out from the Gryffindor stands.

"He seems to think he can _dance _on the broom, dear god!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, and slowly pointed her wand at Jordan, prepared to hex him. She shot a glance over at the teachers' stand to see if anyone was watching her, when she saw it: Snape was looking at Harry intensely, never blinking, his mouth ever moving.

She nudged Cho, and pointed out what Snape was doing. "Look at Professor Snape- see how his moth's moving and his eyes follow Harry everywhere?" Hermione narrowed her eyes dangerously. "I bet he's jinxing him"

"It doesn't make sense; why would he sabotage his own team?" Cho seemed utterly baffled.

"I don't know," Hermione murmured, concern for her first friend at Hogwarts flashing in her mind and taking control of her impulses. A quick calculation proved that the impulsive actions she would soon indulge in would only have positive effects on her life. If she left Harry to die, she would lose her best friend, and her roadmap to more friends. And, after the troll incident, the entire school was still suspicious of her- she'd be framed for his death, and lose any other friends she currently had. She began to make her way over to the other stand.

"I think- _Hermione,_ wait, what are you doing?" Cho hissed, alarmed.

"Going to help my friend."

Cho, hesitated, and then nodded. "Should I come with you?"

"Your decision," Hermione shrugged.

The two girls quickly made their way up and down the stands, until they were standing just below the professors. Hermione quickly did a leg count, and pointed her wand at a pair of black leggings, and a muttered incantation later, they were on fire. Immediately, all eyes were on Snape, as he thrashed around, accidentally stomping some teachers on the foot. Quirrell, the unlucky man, heard an audible _crack_ as Snape accidentally massacred his toe, and felt himself tear up.

A feeling of great satisfaction filled Hermione. She didn't know that saving lives could feel _this_ good.

Hermione and Cho made it back to their seats just in time to see Harry cough out the golden snitch.

* * *

"**It was Snape**," Cho declared furiously, sitting in the warm comfort of Hagrid's hut and enjoying a dainty cup of tea. Hermione and Harry were stirring their mugs of hot chocolate and clocking Hagrid's response. Harry's cocoa was much thinner than her own- he had suffered from a nearly perforated stomach, and although it had been reconstructed, it would always be a little sensitive. "Hermione saw him just _muttering_ and staring at Harry like a creep."

"**Rubbish**," Hagrid said, tending to the fire with a red hot poker, his face obscured by smoke. "**Why would he do somethin' like that **to his own student? In his house no less."

"I have no idea," Hermione admitting, before taking a sip of her drink, and grimacing as her tongue scalded slightly. "I just saw him- looking at Harry and muttering to himself."

The four of them sat in silence for a bit, stewing over the information that had just been divulged, the three children suspicious, and Hagrid in what seemed to be denial of Snape's wicked intentions. Hermione thought that Snape was a tad bit suspicious, but didn't feel that a simple jinx was enough to incriminate the professor- perhaps he really had just been muttering to himself. But she shook the thought immediately- hadn't Harry's flying drastically improved once Snape was sufficiently distracted? There was something about him- his greasy hair, his sullen attitude, his new shady limp, his billowy black cloak.

Wait… billowy black cloak? That brought up a few memories- tight enclosed space, pressed up against the wall, hiding- yes, a billowy black cloak, like liquid ebony, flowing in the air behind a figure disappearing past an archway into another part of the school… Snape, it had to have been him- but why hadn't he been in the dungeons when all the other teachers were there at the time? Hermione's eyes narrowed, as she tucked away this tidbit of information for future use. Perhaps it was worth looking into.

* * *

**A/N:** What did you think of this one? Any idea where I could go from here?

Kay, now that you've read it, please review. Reviews give my ideas and inspiration, as well as helping me improve my underdeveloped writing skills. Love you all, and will try to respond to every review. I respond via PM, so check your inbox.

~Hyaci


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, so this is Hyaci.

This chapter is mainly the previous chapters, except from Harry's point of view. This particular one only covers two chapters, and the next on will cover the rest. You can skip over these chapters and still have a coherent understanding of what is going on, but these chapters are to allow you to view events from Harry's mindset, cover plot holes, etc. You will see these Harry chapters pop up every so often.

I did not make the quoted text bold in this chapter, since I made them bold in the others, so yeah.

I may have made Harry too observant and calculating. (compared to canon, anyway.) But here goes.

* * *

**Chapter 7: **Of Insecurities and Explanations

"Are you doing magic?"

Brown hair, bushy and far out of control had been tied back, so as not to spring over her face. She had unremarkable features- a plain girl, with buckteeth and a mouth that quivered slightly because she was excited. Her eyes were the only part of her that stood out- not because of shape or color, but because of the depth they possessed- unfathomably deep, unreadable. Definitely not the eyes of a simple eleven to twelve year old girl. Harry nodded, answering her question, and she broke into a happy smile.

"Let's see it then!"

Both Harry and the girl with the enigmatic eyes turned and stared expectantly at Ron- the slightly dirty, redheaded boy sitting across from him, wearing shabby secondhand robes and dangling an ancient rat before his hand-me-down wand. Ron gulped, and began the incantation, waving the wand in silly motions. After he had finished the lengthy and dubiously worded spell, both Harry and the girl leaned in to examine the rat to see if there were any changes.

There weren't.

"Are you sure it's a real spell?" The girl seemed to doubt it was, Harry noted.

"Course it is," Ron said, "Fred and George said it was."

"Well, it's not a very good one is it?" the girl asked with a smug smile on her face. "I've tried a few and they've _all_ worked for me." She paused, before adding hesitantly, "I suppose I could teach them to you…"

Learn magic? Even if it was just a few simple spells from this girl, Harry couldn't help but feel slightly excited at the prospect. Nobody had ever taught him anything before- even with the chores, he was self taught- but here was a girl offering to assist him in mastering a few spells. Without questioning how she even knew these spells- he assumed that her parents were wizards, and taught them to her.

"I'm Hermione Granger by the way," she said cheerfully, offering him a toothy smile. Her buckteeth didn't ruin her bright smile, he noted. "What's your name?"

"Harry Potter."

Hermione's eyes widened expressively, although he still couldn't read anything from them. Those eyes were strange- they weren't like Ron's eyes that betrayed his simplicity, or Dudley's eyes that showed the world he was truly a pig through and through. Her eyes were like a locked window- both open and guarded. Harry could discern no more from them than she wanted him to.

"Are you really? I've read at least a dozen books about you."

Harry nodded. Only belatedly did he think to offer proof of his identity- which, by now he had gathered, would always need to be proven to others. He was famous- the boy who lived. In Diagon Alley, he had even seen a few other children cosplaying as him. It had been a strange experience- like looking in a mirror. The costumes were that realistic- although he supposed it could have been magic. Nevertheless, it unnerved him to see that he was such a well known personage.

So, to prove to this Hermione Granger that he was indeed who he claimed to be, he raised his bangs to show the scar that marred the forehead of his otherwise decent face.

"I suppose you don't need my help then, you probably know loads of magic." Her voice was bright and cheery, as she turned and began to slide out of her seat. Harry, without thinking, reached out and grabbed her arms.

"Well, even if you don't want to teach us, you could stay and talk…" He implored. Ron wasn't good company- all he could really talk about was himself and his family- really, there were too many Weasleys.

Hermione hesitated, before breaking into a slow smile, sliding back down into her seat.

The three sat in an awkward silence for a few moments, before Hermione broke the silence with a question she'd obviously been dying to ask.

"Do you know which houses you're going to be in?"

Harry merely shrugged, but Ron began to talk excessively: "Oh, I'm _definitely_ going to be in Gryffindor. My entire family did, you know, my mother, my father, my cousins and brothers, my-"

"I'll probably just go wherever they sort me," Harry said, cutting him off. "As long as it's not Slytherin." Ron nodded in agreement. Hermione, however, frowned.

"What's wrong with Slytherin?" she asked, thoroughly puzzled.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks. "Well, you see-" Ron started.

"Hagrid told me that all dark wizards were in Slytherin," Harry finished, fondly remembering the conversation with the friendly, enormous man.

Hermione shook her head in amusement. "Not everyone in Slytherin is bad," she stated. "Or at least, it's highly unlikely. It's just that the qualities that House stands for fit into the equation for a dark arts practitioner- cunning and sly. I'm sure there are plenty of heroes that fit that description."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "I dunno. Never heard of a bloke from Slytherin that was a good guy."

"Merlin, Ron." Hermione shook her head. "Merlin was a Slytherin."

Harry raised an eyebrow at this revelation. No one had bothered to tell him that there could be good Slytherins as well as bad ones. Why had they kept this information hidden from him? He had many conjectures, but they all seemed implausible. Had they wanted to influence his opinion of the houses? Maybe stir up inter-house rivalries over misunderstandings over blurred, or completely smoothed over facts? Or maybe Hagrid just didn't know this piece of information, and thus, could not communicate it to him…

"Blimey, was he really? And I thought he liked muggles too…" Evidently, Ron hadn't.

"Ron," Hermione said bluntly, "He did."

"Oh."

Harry snickered, and handed him a chocolate frog card that featured Merlin. "Maybe you should read them instead of just collecting them?"

Ron's freckles vanished into his face as he reddened, and he began to mutter under his breath- which was really foul smelling. Harry could smell all the things he had been eating all the way over on his side of the compartment- Ron really needed to lay off on those Garlic flavored beans.

Suddenly, the compartment door opened again, and three heads snapped towards it. There, at the doorway, was a blonde boy with an entitled look about him, and an unpleasant sneer on his face. Harry recognized him as the snobby boy from Madame Malkin's. Two extraordinarily ugly troll-human hybrids stood behind him, both of them large and horrendously ugly, with severe under-bites and weak chins. It took Harry a moment to realize that they were in fact, just extraordinarily ugly people and not pitiable mutants.

"Is it true then?" the blonde boy addressed Harry, a little venom in his voice. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter was in this compartment. Is it you then?"

Harry gave a curt nod to the boy, feeling quite a bit affronted with the tone the other boy was using. No manners whatsoever- really quite snobby. He thought he was doing a good job of controlling his anger, until he saw Hermione watching him with a strange look on her face. He made a strangled noise as he attempted to better mask his dislike of the boy.

"Yes."

"My name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." A condescending tone, as if he expected all of them to recognize the name, to beg to be friends, to kiss his feet, worship the ground he walked on. Harry gritted his teeth so hard, he could almost feel the enamel wearing thin.

Hermione apparently recognized that name. "Very prestigious and famous pureblood family," she said, awe present in her voice. "The Malfoys are related to the Lestranges, the Blacks, the Greengrasses, and the Rosiers."

Malfoy whipped his head over to see who had spoken. He smirked approvingly, eyeing her up and down, from her head to her toe. "You did your research I see. Are you one of us?"

"One of us?"

"Purebloods."

"Yes," she said, confidently.

"Which family?"

"Dagworth-Granger," Hermione said, elaborating. "My great-unclefounded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers."

Malfoy nodded approvingly, before eyeing the third member of the group. "No need to ask who you are," he sneered. "Weasleys. Red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to face Harry, and held out his hand. "You might want to be choosier about who you hang out with, Potter. She," he gestured at Hermione, "Is okay, but Weasley is a blood-traitor. They're nearly as bad as mudbloods, in my opinion."

Harry willed his face to remain blank, although inside he was brewing over the information he'd just received. So Ron and his family, for all their bumbling kindness, were not well received in the wizarding world- among the elite, anyway. He thought for a moment, about which friend he should make- Malfoy, or Ron. Malfoy would undoubtedly be more useful, with his connections (something he'd heavily hinted at having, based on the way he told Harry to be choosy about friends,) but Ron, he liked better as a person (which was based purely on gut instinct, with his not having known Ron for much more than a few hours.)

Quickly, he banished all thoughts comparing and contrasting the two. There was nothing stopping him from befriending both. He noted that Hermione seemed to have no problem trying to do the same thing. There were a few holes in his plans, but he could patch them up when he got there. He stood up, and slowly grasped Malfoy's hand.

Ron was obviously a chameleon or some close relative- his red hair and face caused him to seem to be one and the same with his seat.

"I expect we'll be seeing more of each other," Malfoy smiled. "Good day, Potter, Granger."

And as quickly as he came, he left. The compartment door slid shut, and the trio sat in silence.

Then, Harry spoke up, just to placate the boy sitting across from him. "If it means anything, Ron, I'd rather hang out with you than Malfoy any day."

Ron visibly relaxed, and gave Harry a weak smile. "Thanks mate," he said, his voice shakier than it had been a few minutes ago.

The train ride only lasted about another five minutes after their encounter with Malfoy, and when it began to decelerate, Hermione excused herself from their presence to go gather up her material possessions. Before she left, she offered Harry a warm smile.

As soon as the train had ground to a complete stop, students immediately began crowding the hallways, all excited to have arrived at Hogwarts. Ron and Harry stuck together, both dragging their trunks out with grunts of pain at the weight.

As soon as they were out of the train however, Harry made sure to lose Ron. He couldn't have Ron bringing him down with his… what was it Malfoy called him again? Ah, yes, "blood traitor". He could not afford to allow Ron to ruin his social life with his "blood traitor" ways. No, it was best to separate, at least for now.

Harry pushed forward, towards the giant shape in the middle of the crowd, illuminated only by a lantern. It could only be Hagrid.

He felt something nudge him, and he turned around and saw Hermione. He smiled- Malfoy had said she was alright. Now, he was operating under the dangerous assumption that all purebloods saw things Malfoy's way. The public would accept her better than they did Ron

"I think we're supposed to follow Hagrid," Harry said, pointing.

Hagrid led the first years into a steep narrow path that went on for quite some time. Eventually, a dark, glistening lake came into view, and the students made it down to the shore, where dozens of boats had apparently beached themselves. Across the lake, there was a large castle perched on a cliff. As the students, one by one, noticed the castle, each let out a quiet murmur of excitement, which, collectively, made too much noise.

A sound of awe escaped from Harry's throat before he could stop it. In embarrassment, he looked around to see if anyone heard- and he saw Hermione looking at him, smiling her enigmatic smile as amusement danced in her eyes.

"That's Hogwarts?" He'd been caught- no use in pretending to be unaffected now.

"Didn't you read _Hogwarts, A History_?" Hermione asked, "They describe it in great detail, and even have one or two illustrations."

No, he hadn't read it, but now he made a note to do so. He glanced at Hermione, and began to make mental notes about what he knew of her. She was obviously very well read- what with the pureblood informational lecture she'd spouted on the train, the way she directed him to a book at his question. She seemed smart, as well as kind. A great friend. A useful friend.

A friend.

"No more'n four to a boat," Hagrid called out loudly, effectively ending their conversation.

Everyone again pressed forward, while Harry and Hermione stuck close. Somehow, they ended up in a boat with Ron (whom Harry made an effort to stay away from,) and a round faced boy named Neville, who was in tears. Apparently, he'd come to Hermione's compartment to ask for help searching for his toad, Trevor, although Harry had no idea if she had helped or not. She had been in their compartment for most of the ride, so he presumed she hadn't, but that didn't seem in character, based on what he knew of her so far- which, admittedly, wasn't much. Still, she had been kind to _him_.

"Forward**!**" Hagrid's voice rose above the students' conversations. Suddenly, as if at his command, all the boats departed from shore at once, gliding over the water, barely making a sound.

"Hey Harry," Hermione whispered, her voice almost lost in the crashing of the waves in the lake.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Are we… friends?"

He was shocked. He'd been planning to befriend her- for her intelligence, if nothing else- but he was still amazed by how it had all quickly fallen into place, without his having to lift a finger. It was a little suspicious…

"Yes" he decided. "But do you really want to be my friend?"

"Of course Harry!" She sounded shocked that he would think anything else of her.

The boat ride continued in relative silence, occasionally broken by Hagrid's grunts, and students' "oohs" and "aahs". Once in a while, Harry had to duck his head at Hagrid's instructions in order to dodge an overhead arch or rock formation, but he was able to enjoy the boat ride nevertheless.

Once the boats had all docked (within a cavern, no less!), the students began to dismount onto crumbling marble steps. Hermione and Harry got out of the boat in quick succession of each other, while Ron was quite a bit slower, and Neville was still so upset about losing his toad that he hadn't noticed the boat stopped. In the end, Hagrid had to lift the tearful boy out of the boat himself.

"What's wrong with him?" Hermione whispered irritably, "It's just a toad."

Harry looked at her sharply. Perhaps his analysis of her character hadn't been accurate after all… or perhaps she was merely frustrated at Neville's continued antics… but he was inclined to agree.

Quickly, they ascended the steps, and they stopped when they arrived at a platform near the top. Hagrid made his way to the front, turned around and gave the crowd a quick scan. "Everyone here?" Without waiting for an answer, he spun around once more, and gave the huge oak front door three excessively loud knocks. The students began to murmur amongst themselves, and Hermione pointed out to Harry how Hagrid had damaged the door with his strength. The thin, spidery threads that had covered the door had evolved into large cracks.

And as soon as Hagrid's hand left the wood on the third knock, the heavy door swung open, pushing Hagrid to the sidelines. Illuminated in the light was a shriveled up, stern looking woman dressed in velvety green robes. Her stereotypical witch's hat sat crinkled upon her graying hair, which was pulled back into a bun. A strict expression was plastered onto her face, and she continuously wrung her hands.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall."

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

Professor McGonagall turned on her heel, and led them past a huge corridor- so spacious that Harry found it impossible to see what was at the sides of the room, could not make out any of the blurry shapes on the walls- maybe that was just his bad vision, however. He wound up and down small flights of stairs, until he reached a small room. All the students were ushered into the room, and were informed they were to stay there until the feast began.

They barely had time to rest for even a minute, before several transparent figures flew in through the wall. A quick count proved that there were twenty ghosts. Hermione smiled serenely at them, but the others gawked and pointed. Even Harry couldn't stifle a gasp (not that they were scary. Most definitely not- they were just… astonishing.) The eyes of the students followed the ghosts as they flew through a pair of double doors, which, as if sensing the ghosts' presences as a cue, opened slowly and utterly majestically.

The Great Hall was truly what it aspired to be- great. It was large and spacious, and the ceiling was inky and black, as was the sky outside. Harry found that he could not tear his eyes away as dark clouds rolled and rumbled across the majestic ceiling that had to be only a few hundred meters above him, but seemed to stretch on for kilometers.

Hermione noticed Harry staring at the ceiling, entranced by the apparent movement of the stars across the artificial night sky. She leaned in next to him, and whispered, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

Harry nodded appreciatively, but kept staring at the ceiling as it flashed, like the real night sky outside did.

A loud scraping noise brought everyone's attention to the front. Professor McGonagall had dragged a small four legged stool out in front of the first years. Then, she pulled a worn looking wizard's hat from out of nowhere, and placed it directly on the stool. Harry couldn't help but wonder what was the purpose- the significance of this shabby looking hat.

Then, melismatic, commanding, with a full throaty tone, the hat burst loudly into a song. After it was over, Harry could remember every word of it- it had been that magical. So this was how they'd be sorted into their houses- a hat. Obviously it was a mind-reading, telepathic hat, but it was still just a shaped piece of fabric, and Harry heaved a sigh, relieved. This wasn't nearly as bad as what Ron had been theorizing they would have to undergo for sorting.

He was pulled back to earth and away from his thoughts once the hat fell silent, and an outrageous amount of applause rang through the hall. Harry's eyes, however, remained glued to the hat. What happened if he went up there, put on the hat, and it declared him unfit for any house? That he wasn't cunning, brave, intelligent, or loyal enough, and would simply have to be stripped of his powers and rendered a muggle, forced to live a mundane existence under the cupboard once more, forever to be merely a slave to his aunt and his uncle.

The sorting began right away, without any regard or assurance for Harry's fears, with the first girl being immediately declared a Hufflepuff. Harry watched nervously as one by one, the students were called up to the pointy old wizard hat and were each sent to the houses they fit best. Harry watched without taking in or comprehending anything, when a name, something familiar and recognizable jolted him out of his daze.

"Granger, Hermione."

Hermione held her head high in the air as she strode confidently over to the stool. She picked up the hat with her nimble fingers and gently placed it on her head, before sitting back onto the stool, her eyes shining wide with hope and fear.

A long silence ensued, during which Hermione's face turned and remained impassive, nearly plastic in its lack of expression. Slowly, her brow began to wrinkle, and Harry couldn't help but feel that she was obviously making some sort of conversation with the hat. Her lips twisted into an expression of discuss as she mouthed the word _Gryffindor_, and Harry knew at once that she was not going there. The silence remained for an agonizing minute before the hat opened its mouth-flap to declare the single word that would send her to one of the four tables that filled the hall-

"RAVENCLAW!"

She was beaming, her eyes sparkling with a vitality that had been stripped from her as she sat on the stool and returned to her after the sorting. Whereas previously Hermione merely strode pretentiously, she now seemed with a purpose as she put one foot before the other, in a haughty pattern, across the beautiful web work of tiles and stone that was the Great Hall's floor, all the way over to the one long table where those decked in blue and bronze sat cheerfully, clapping for the newest addition to their house.

One girl, Harry noticed, seemed particularly interested in striking up a conversation with Hermione. Harry narrowed his eyes, and reminded himself that people were free to have multiple friends, as he was aiming to. Just because Hermione might find better and newer friends didn't mean that she would abandon him- yes, that thought was ridiculous in and of itself. Hadn't she been the one to ask to be friends in the first place?

While Harry Potter would never admit to himself- and certainly never to others, he had abandonment issues. All his life, he was unwanted, his so called "family" distanced themselves from him, only speaking to him when they wanted him to provide menial labor. His school friends had all left him when Dudley intimidated them. It had all been one abandonment after another, which was why he doubted that a relationship could ever have longevity.

He brightened somewhat when Hermione waved the asian girl away, and turned back to look at him with a wobbly smile. Feeling particularly triumphant, he smiled back. Once he did, however, a strange look passed over her face, and he bit his lip, confused. He turned back to the front just in time to see Malfoy place the sorting hat on his head. Before even a second had passed, he had been sorted into Slytherin, something he was very pleased about, judging from the look on his face.

Harry watched as the students, one by one, each headed up to the front to sit on the stool and be judged by the worn looking hat. The crowd began to thin, as the tables began to fill up. Some of the tables looked so full that Harry thought they couldn't seat anymore- but somehow, they always managed to make room for a new arrival.

Harry was so lost in thought that he didn't even notice when his name was called.

Immediately, the entire hall fell silent, only interrupted occasionally by gasps and conspiratorial whispering. Harry turned and looked at Hermione one more time, his silently imploring her for reassurance. At once, her warm brown eyes filled with an unidentifiable, mystifying look, and she smiled a supportive smile. Slowly, he began to walk up to the front, to sit under the hat, to let it read his mind and choose where he belonged.

"Brave," a dramatic voice declared into his head. "Very, very brave, but also- the potential to be cunning and intelligent. Talent, yes goodness knows you have talent- not too much, though, certainly not as much as some of the other students I have sorted… but I digress. Yes, you have many traits, but the ones you don't develop, you will find they may simply… wither. Oh yes, you can lose traits- people change you know."

Patiently, Harry waited for the hat to chose, but he was deeply disturbed by the thoughts that the hat put into his head. His traits could simply die off? He could only cultivate one? He quickly began to think, which was the most useful trait?

"What a very Slytherin thought," the hat murmured, and before the words even registered in his mind, the hat yelled out, with roof raising power: "SLYTHERIN!"

Loud and thunderous applause ripped through the entire Slytherin table, whereas the other tables only produced some quiet, disappointing claps. Slowly, Harry slid off the stool, feeling weary, all of a sudden, as if he had just been through an arduous ordeal. And perhaps it _had_ been exactly that. As Harry walked over to the Slytherin table, his eyes searched the crowd for Hermione. When their eyes met, he shot her a rueful smile, before making his way over and sitting down in an empty spot.

Next to him was Malfoy, who smirked. "Slytherin- I knew you would be one of us." He leaned in close to Harry, and whispered into his ear. "You have so much potential to be… the next great Dark Lord."

Harry looked at Malfoy, repulsed. The other boy only smiled a weak imitation, a mockery of Hermione's enigmatic grin, and Harry got the feeling he was being deliberately cryptic.

"Think about it."

* * *

**Author's Note**: So, how did you like this chapter? Should I continue doing these "Harry Chapters"? I'm only doing them to point out differences between the Harry in canon and the Harry in my story- changes brought about by events that transpired differently. If you think that these chapters detract from the story, then please let me know. Again, it isn't necessary to read these chapters, if you want to read from only Hermione's perspective.

Also, if you noticed, in Canon, Harry never really develops any traits that remotely recommend him to Slytherin- or any other house, for that matter. So I assume that the hat meant he had Slytherin _potential._

Kay, now that you've read it, please review. Reviews give my ideas and inspiration, as well as helping me improve my underdeveloped writing skills. Love you all, and will try to respond to every review. I respond via PM, so check your inbox.

~Hyaci


	8. Chapter 8

Hyaci here!

Here's chapter 8. Oh, and if you have time, please check out the poll on my profile. I'd appreciate it ;D

* * *

**Chapter 8: **Fluffy Poodles and Pandas

It was the week after Christmas break, and classes had resumed. Harry slid into the assigned seat, wincing when he felt the cold hardness of the chair he was sitting on. The classroom (in the dungeon) was frigidly cold- not what he'd been expecting, since the common room (also in the dungeons) had been pleasantly toasty and warm. Though it was under a lake, the room had obviously had some sort of spell cast on it to keep it warm the whole time. When he'd mentioned his theory to Hermione, she'd agreed that it was likely, although she offered up a few alternatives, such as the release of body heat, and an efficient way of trapping it.

Now however, he had to concede that Hermione may have been onto something. If heating spells for such a large scale room existed, surely they could have been cast on the chilly potions classroom. Instead, everything was cold- the floor, the chair, the desk, the air, the windows were crisscrossed with frosty designs, not unlike interlocking chains, and the potions lining the shelves all looked frozen. Some of the potion jars had animals suspended within their frozen contents- live animals. Indeed, one of the less visually appealing creatures seemed to survey the room with pitiably fearful eyes that moved back and forth. Harry shivered, feeling strangely vulnerable in this distinctly creepy place.

Potions. A class with the Gryffindors. Harry groaned, and hid his face in his hands as he thought of a slightly unpleasant redhead that tagged along with his group every day.

Sure enough, Ron bounded up to him, a dopey Gryffindor smile plastered on his face. Harry surreptitiously checked the seating chart magically projected to the front, and confirmed his theory- Ron had ignored the seating chart in order to sit next to his celebrity friend. Reading the name of the person who was supposed to sit beside him- Millicent Bulstrode- Harry supposed that things could be worse.

"Hey there Harry," Ron said, an insincere smile on his face. "We're changing seats today, right?" He probably knew perfectly well that they were; Snape had been dropping obvious hints about placing the all the Gryffindors in a circle around Neville Longbottom, in the hopes that they'd all die.

Ah, Snape, the potions master, and head of Slytherin house. Although he never singled Harry out with his cruel jokes and jibes (which were exclusively reserved for Gryffindors, like the perpetually clumsy Longbottom boy), Harry got the feeling that he disliked him. Every so often, he would feel a cold prickle, feel the hairs rise up on the back of his neck, and he'd look up and catch Snape glaring at him in an unpleasant manner. Quickly, he'd look down, to avoid the man's gaze.

Naturally, this hidden dislike, Harry had faithfully reported to his friend Hermione, who promised that she would look into it somehow. Cho had just listened sympathetically.

This, obviously, made them suspicious of Snape, even going as far as to- after the quidditch match- suggest that Snape had jinxed the broom. Though Harry wouldn't put it past him.

"Yeah," Harry said, not deigning to point out the seating chart that was bright and obvious in the front of the classroom.

"I wonder what Snape has in store for us today?"

"No idea."

Everything with a claim to significance that day had all started when the unobtrusive Neville- quite innocently, in his endearingly, bumbling clumsy manner- stirred his potion counterclockwise rather than clockwise, causing the potion to turn a color not unlike the blush on his face when Snape snidely reprimanded him. Harry understood, however, Neville's predicament. None of the Slytherin or Gryffindor first years had any great aptitude for potions- there were a few talented people, but nothing outstanding. In fact, most people present had absolutely no idea what they were doing, which meant that, more often than not, the whole of the class was subject to Snape's ire. This, in turn, caused the students to try to pressure others into doing well, which subsequently caused decreased performance quality. It was like a never ending cycle, and Neville was just stuck further in the rut than most.

Quickly- and stupidly- he tried to undo his mistake by stirring the potion clockwise twice.

"NO,YOU FOOL-" Snape was blustering now, his face redder than the color of Ron's hair. Harry noted that it was a particularly unattractive look for him.

Snape never had a chance to finish his sentence, because at that exact moment, Neville's potion- which was supposed to be a Wiggenweld- became extra sensitive to the air around it. At the same moment, Ron chose to let gas escape from his bowels with a _whoosh_ and a grunt. And as the tendrils of flatulence made it past a few Slytherins -who wrinkled their noses at the smell- it came into contact with Neville's cauldron, which frothing in a somewhat dangerous manner.

The effect was instantaneous- the room was enveloped in a green cloud of smoke that was scented not unlike Ron's fart. Immediately, cries arose from every part of the room, drowning out Snape's incoherent roaring, and Neville's indistinct whimpering. Harry could bear the stench no longer (having lived the majority of his life in a broom cupboard that smelled of cleaning agents) and fled the room, not caring whether or not he would be marked truant.

* * *

It was Hemione's free period, and she felt that she had just enough time to check out the room past the archway Snape had gone through the night of the troll.

She wasn't particularly worried- she felt safe at Hogwarts. Surely, the teachers had taken every precaution available in order to ensure the safety of the students. Hermione didn't dream that there was any possibility of danger. She felt fearless, as she tread down the path that Snape had ventured down on Halloween night.

It led to, she was surprised to note, the third floor corridor. At the end of it, there was a large wooden door, dark grooves marring its smooth surface. There was a brass handle, one with a design totally different to the rest of the handles. In other words, the door looked inviting. It _was_ inviting, beckoning her on… In a burst of curiosity and uncharacteristic impulsiveness, she grasped the handle and gave it a light tug.

Nothing; the door did not give. It was locked shut. The handle didn't even so much as wiggle when she pulled on it with all of her twelve year old strength.

She narrowed her eyes, and came closer to examine the handle. She could discern no strange unlocking mechanism, and so she resolved to attempt to open it with magic. If that didn't work, she always had her trusty bobby pin.

Hermione pulled her wand from her pocket, and pointed it at the lock, before whispering in a rather demanding tone, "_Alohomora._"

At once, a thin, smoky blue light was issued from the tip of her wand. It slithered and curled itself around the air, before sliding effortlessly into the lock. A loud click, and the door was ajar. She scrunched up her forehead in thought. _This_ was the forbidden third floor corridor? Broken into by a first year with a simple _Alohomora_?

She wasn't sure if she felt safe in Hogwarts anymore, not if _these_ were the security measures. After all, she knew for a fact that there were spells, enchantments that could be utilized so as to keep the door locked, even to the unlocking charm. Whoever had tried to keep students out of this room had obviously not gone through enough effort.

Her hand slid in between the door and the doorframe, and she slowly pulled the door open, towards herself, and peered in, all curiosity. Before her mind could even register the sight before her, she clenched her hand, ground her teeth, closed her eyes, and broke into a sweat.

Oh. Merlin's. Baggy. Y. Fronts.

Inside the forbidden third floor corridor, easily accessible with a twitch of a wand and a first year spell, was a voracious, vicious, man-eating three headed, oversized dog with saliva oozing down the side of its mouth, yellowed canine teeth bared into a cruel, wicked smile. Black matted fur decorated the sides of its face, with hairless patches thrown haphazardly over its entire being, like spots. Bacteria and viruses lurked within its open jaw, ready to gift any victim with a convenient septic infection.

A Cerberus. An illegal animal, according to the extensive research she'd done. That had _no _right to be here, where it could potentially endanger the hundreds of students that lived and breathed the air of Hogwarts.

No, no. This wasn't happening. She wasn't sharing a school with an illegal animal- a _dangerous_ illegal animal, one that could probably finish her off in one bite, and then use her wand as a toothpick.

She backed away, slowly, fearfully, apprehensively. She had to escape without being noticed, or else her short life- an unfulfilled life- would be over. Gone in a puff of smoke, devoured by the horrific three headed hound before her. Slowly, slowly…

CLANG!

Hermione whirled around, and noticed quickly that she had backed into a table, smashing vases on the ground. A loud growl behind her alerted her to the fact that the dog had become aware of her presence, and suddenly, her legs felt jellylike and useless. If she tried to run, she'd probably be caught before she took the first step. Still, she had to attempt an escape.

And she was out of there, as fast as she could be, back towards the library, her safe haven, her sanctuary. She ran like the wind, her legs blurring, her hair flying in the wind behind her, making loud whooshes as she made particularly fast turns. Her mouth, open, panted for breath as she fled the third floor corridor, towards the heaven, the nirvana, the beautiful eden, filled with bookcases and books, and the smell of musty leather and parchment.

In fact, Hermione had left so fast, she had barely any time to notice that the dog was resting upon a particularly out of place trapdoor. That it had been guarding something.

* * *

Harry had been sitting on the grand staircase, gagging and leaning against the banister for support, when she'd darted past him, slapping him in the face with that incredibly bushy hair, drawing his attention in an instance. She was flushed- probably from running all over the place.

"Hermione?" he called out.

She didn't turn around, instead just turning another corner and flying excitedly down the steps, faster than he'd ever seen her run before. He frowned- she hadn't noticed him. With others, he usually didn't care, but Hermione had always seemed particularly attentive to him, and he'd grown slightly spoiled. So if she hadn't noticed him, something was going on- the world was ending, the sky was falling.

Almost reflexively, he rose to follow.

"Hermione? Hermione!"

Her head spun around, her eyes staring at him uncomprehendingly, her legs still carrying her down the steps. As she turned, she grabbed the banister to steady herself, and closed her eyes, still breathing hard. Her forehead creased, proof that she was thinking, and when she finally opened her eyes, they were the calm, intelligent ones that he remembered. She let go of the banister, and slowly headed up the stairs, with amazingly stable balance for someone who had been running uncontrollably for the past few minutes.

"Hello, Harry," she said calmly, her voice toneless and uninviting. She was warning him not to pry.

"Hey, Hermione." He hesitated, before curiosity got the best of him. "What happened?"

Annoyance briefly flashed in her eyes, before she smoothed it over with a blank expression. She smiled a mirthless smile, and said, "Nothing." She sounded contrived, insincere, Harry noted, with growing interest.

"You were running away from nothing," he said, unconvinced.

She raised an eyebrow. "Fine. I was just investigating Snape's suspicious activities during Halloween, which led me to the third floor corridor, where I encountered a massive Cerberus that would probably eat me the first chance it gets."

"Sarcasm? I very much doubt that any of the teachers would risk a Cerberus in the school."

"You caught me." She raised her arms to the air. "I was actually evading Terry."

"Boot?"

"Yes. He's taken a liking to Cho lately, and wants me to set them up."

That, at least, was true. Recently, the two had been seeing less of Cho, since Boot had been attempting to monopolize her attentions. It had become quite annoying, really. That annoyingness only became more evident when he had approached them individually, begging for an introduction. They had both turned him down politely, but he persisted. Eventually, Harry would just ignore him, while Hermione had a tendency to disappear whenever Boot made his presence known.

He got the feeling however, that Hermione was hiding something from him, evading his questions, deflecting his comments with a lighthearted air, one so transparently and blatantly artificial. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but let it pass, glancing up, his eyes settling at the third floor corridor. He was sure he knew what she'd been up to, and he had half a mind to check for himself.

* * *

Harry was under a cloak of invisibility, one that allowed him to simply blend into the night, disappear like a chameleon. He'd received it at Christmastime, with a note, stating nothing more than the fact that the deliverer had been an acquaintance of his father. Naturally, Harry was curious as to who the acquaintance was (and hoped to interrogate them, extract all they knew about his parents, of which he knew but little), but as the note wasn't signed, and there was no other way to trace whomever it was, he'd been forced to abandon prospects of such a search.

Nobody knew of the cloak, not Malfoy, not Cho, not even Hermione. He rather preferred to keep it this way- his cloak was the sole remaining legacy of his father, and he felt it was only fair to keep it top himself. He currently entertained no plans of telling any of them, and he doubted he ever would.

So, it was under this infallible cover that Harry snuck out in the middle of the night, determined to learn the truth about the nature of the secret that Hermione had chosen not to divulge to him previously. His suspicion was that it had something to do with the third floor corridor.

Quickly, he shuffled out of the common room, across the cold stone floor of the dungeons, up to the great hall, up the steps of the Grand staircase. He was quickly getting nervous, and felt that he was going way too fast. He thought about slowing down, but knew that if he did, there was a fair chance he'd lose his nerve entirely.

Then, far too quickly for his liking, he found himself on the third floor. Slowly, he propped open the door and peered into the corridor.

It was empty,

He ran in, quickly, up to the wooden door at the end. It looked forbidding, dark, even a little evil. Very intimidating, but not to Harry. Though still with some reservations, he drew upon his stores of bravery that the Hat had alluded to in his sorting, and gave the handle a squeeze, followed by a half-hearted tug.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry turned around, and walked briskly towards the door.

Smack dab into Hermione, whom he knocked down.

"Homenum Revelio!" Her voice came out in a whisper.

Immediately, Harry felt something swoop over him, and he ducked.

"Who's there!"

* * *

What do you think? You likey? No likey? Read and review please!

I'll try to respond to as many reviews as I can!

Oh, and, BTW, Just wanted to, er, be a stan and put an advertisement on here for my idol MARIAH CAREY and her new single TRIUMPHANT. Please give it a listen, thanks!


	9. Chapter 9

Hyaci Here! Sorry I didn't update earlier, guys! I hope you guys are still interested in the story. My inspiration just... upped and left me. It's back now, hopefully for a long while this time around.

I know this chapter might feel a little weak compared to the earlier ones, but I'd written myself into a hole, and had to write myself out of it soooo...

So please enjoy chapter 9!

* * *

**Chapter 9: **Revelations and Blackmail

In the middle of the Ravenclaw tower, in her bed decked with blue and bronze draperies, Hermione lay wide awake. Though she dearly yearned for sleep- an idea that had been utterly attractive before, and was becoming more tempting by the second- such a course of action was obstructed by her own curiosity. She let out a groan of frustration- who knew that her brain would torture her with taunts relating to the third floor corridor, and the Cerberus that rested there?

"Why," she muttered quietly to herself, mentally berating her mind for tormenting her so. She shifted, and held the pillows over her head, hoping to muffle her loud thoughts. Unluckily for her, there was no effect.

Why was the Cerberus there? She could not make heads or tails of it. Cerberuses were horrible dangerous beasts- a safety hazard that could potentially result in the closure of the school. And the room it was in wasn't very well protected, she mused with a frown. One simple first year spell- alohomora- and she had been able to force her way in. Did Professor Dumbledore _really_ think he could preempt student entry with a warning and a lock?

Her mind flickered back to the Cerberus. Now that she thought about it… hadn't the Cerberus been sitting on something? When escaping, there had been no time to stop and examine the room, but she was almost _certain_ that she had seen a patch of strangely discolored floor. What, what, what could it be? She ground her teeth in frustration as her mind worked to discount various possibilities.

She sat up straight in bed, her mind reeling with the probability that the three headed dog had been sitting on a trapdoor. The dog wasn't there without a reason, it wasn't there to waste space or to maul nosy pupils- no, the beast was there with a definite _purpose_. It was _guarding_ something.

Without even thinking about what she was doing, Hermione swung her legs off and over the bed. Before she regained control of herself, she had snuck out of the dormitory, out of the common room, down the Grand Staircase, and into the forbidden third floor corridor.

When she noticed her surroundings, she gulped. Her subconscious was obviously attempting to sate her curiosity- but was it worth it? If she went in and wasn't careful, there was a distinct possibility she would be ripped to shreds and eaten for desert, her bones used as toothpicks, her life and goals torn from her- but if didn't, she would never be able to sleep again, her nights eternally plagued by this room and her unsatisfied curiosity.

Though even to her the second option was infinitely more palatable, she found her hand gripping the doorknob with a hard grip. It seemed that her subconscious had made the choice for her, something that relieved her greatly. Her life or death decision had been wrested from her hands, and whatever the outcome now, she could blame the inner workings of her mind.

Slowly, the door creaked open, and she slipped in. Now, there was only one door between her and the three-headed mutt. Her eyes shuttered close briefly, before opening again with a determined glint. Though anxiety pervaded her mind, her body was obviously not likewise affected, as she found her legs making long, confident strides towards the other room. She would flip that door open too, and confront the Cerberus, and find out once and for all if it was _really_ resting atop a trapdoor, and if it was, what it was guarding.

She only made it halfway through the corridor.

There was something invisible there, a mysterious hidden presence, and she had bumped into it. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second- before narrowing in suspicion. Out came her wand, and before her eyes even closed in a blink, she spoke the incantation of the Presence Revelation spell. "_Homenum Revelio!"_

A quick burst of light- which, if the books she read were to be trusted, was visible only to her- flashed about the room, and she saw a small figure illuminated by it- a distinctly humanoid figure, roughly her own size. Instantly she stood, her back against the door to prevent the other from escaping, her wand pointed at him or her in warning.

"_Expelliarmus_!" She had no idea if the spell would work or not- she had never had the opportunity to practice it, though the theory seemed easy enough. Therefore, it was a pleasant surprise when a wand came flying through the darkness to her feet.

No longer wary, she spoke in a low voice, one tinted with the threat of a powerful hex- she spoke.

"Who's there?"

No response. Hermione could have smacked herself- what idiot would respond to that? She decided on another course of action. Swiftly, she made her way over to where the figure was last, gripped the air, and gave it a harsh tug.

The air came off, and a guilty looking Harry stood sheepishly in the center of the room.

Hermione's eyes widened- then narrowed. She should have known, should have noticed. He obviously didn't trust her enough to take her at her word. It was a definite thing that he had come up to check on what she did earlier that day, but the question was, how much did he know now?

Her mind buzzed with possibilities. It was possible, of course, that he knew nothing whatsoever, and had made no progress with his investigation thus far. It was an unlikely scenario, however. Equally improbable, at least in her eyes, was that he had made more progress than herself- for, despite her obvious inability to read her friends, Hermione still had great faith in her abilities. And, even then, she knew, with absolute surety, that Harry's mental capabilities were quite limited when contrasted with her own.

Better safe than sorry, however.

"What are you doing here," she snapped, her voice dangerously low. Feigning ignorance as to the purpose of his presence, she decided, was in her best interest. She didn't want to seem overly- and unnecessarily- suspicious and paranoid.

Harry flinched. "Just… checking."

"Checking?"

His deep green eyes bored into her dark brown ones. "What was _really_ up here." Ah, so he really _didn't _trust her. She knitted her brow together in a frown- she'd have to be more careful around Harry from now on, especially since she knew he wasn't _trusting_ (trusting? What was she thinking? What was she _smoking_? He _was_ a _Slytherin_ after all. There was no way he'd take her at her word. She'd been naïve, and it wouldn't happen again.) Two options from here- be more discreet, or learn to lie better. She resolved to do both- relishing the challenge- but the former would have to work as the sole solution temporarily, as she had little time to work on the latter.

"Checking." Her thoughts were interrupted as he affirmed his statement.

She quirked an eyebrow in feigned interest. With measured steps, she approached the door, and quickly cast the unlocking charm. A loud _click_ emanated from the lock, and the door creaked slightly ajar.

"Go," she said shortly, her voice toneless and emotionless. "Check."

He hesitated, obviously rather intimidated by her new, less accommodating attitude. When she flicked her wand back at him, he hurried to the door, and peeked in.

Though he made no sound, she could tell he had seen the Cerberus because his body began to shake in fear. A strange feeling filled her- a sort of satisfaction. He had questioned what she had told him, and now he was paying the price for it. _Wouldn't it have been better to have remained ignorant than to snoop around, Harry? _The new malicious voice in her head just _wouldn't_ remain quiet for too long.

"You were telling the truth," his voice, soft, quiet, shaky, and timid, broke through her thoughts.

"I'm sorry?" she said, "what?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "When I asked you what you were doing. You told me the truth."

"Well, what did you expect me to tell you?" she inquired quizzically. She knew full well that he really had had no expectations- as a Slytherin, she surmised based on the Slytherin reputation, it was in his nature to question all that he was told. He was, after all, _sly._

"I just…" he seemed to struggle in a very unSlytherinish manner in his search for the correct words to articulate what was going through his head. "I just… had a _feeling_ that you weren't being, well," he moved one hand in an abstract gesture. "I didn't think you were being completely _honest_."

In truth, she hadn't been. Hermione had been betting on Harry not taking her seriously, but now that he investigated and had discovered the truth, she wasn't about to tell him _that_. Instead, she decided to manipulate the situation to her advantage. She eyed him carefully, and quickly thought of several plans, eventually settling on one that she felt would be the most effective. It was still a hit or miss- she had no doubt that the possibility existed he would see right through her.

"I don't…" she trailed off purposefully. "I don't understand why you don't trust me…"

"A bit late to act like that now that I've seen you wave your wand threateningly at me isn't it, Hermione," Harry spoke, suddenly snide.

She dropped the act. "All right, Harry," she snapped. "In any case, I was really just doing this for the sake of my _curiosity_. It doesn't really concern you, and it won't really affect you, so why don't you just scurry back to the Slytherin common room like a _good boy_?"

"And the real Hermione shines through," Harry commented dryly.

Hermione glared at him. "Whatever, Harry." Shoving the situation into the back of her mind, she decided to salvage what she could of the situation, and peeked through the door to confirm her suspicions. As expected, there was a trapdoor under the Cerberus.

"You know," Harry smirked at her once she turned around, "I think I like this _new _Hermione better than the other, simpering one. The other one was merely useful for her intelligence," he paused, before continuing. "But I might actually start to like this new you."

"Do you," Hermione said shortly. "I'm glad, because you'll be seeing a whole lot more of her." She brushed past Harry on the way to the Grand Staircase. As she opened the door, she paused, and turned around to smile patronizingly at Harry.

"Thank you for the cloak, by the way," she said, in a poisonously sweet voice. "And your wand: With a flourish, she whipped his invisibility cloak over herself, and vanished into the darkness. The door closed behind her with a clang, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the room, his face the image of shock.

He had severely underestimated her. She had never really expected him to fall prey to her act any longer- although that would have been an added bonus. No, once she had seen his cloak, that had become her sole objective.

Really, she had little use for the cloak or the wand. Harry, however, was now wandless, and she had no doubt that the cloak was some precious heirloom of the Potter's. Both would make excellent blackmail material. She still needed to hold all the cards in this relationship, after all. Under the infallible cover of invisibility, her mouth curled into a victorious smirk.

* * *

"Give it back," he spoke through gritted teeth. She sat beside him, her face the epitome of calm as she filled out her notes at a shocking pace. Once a few more paragraphs had been transcribed onto the page, she put down her quill, and turned to him with a bland expression.

"Give what back?" Innocence shone through her face, and for the first time, Harry was able to see how good of an actress she truly was. Though he was sitting here, unable to conceal his frustration, she seemed to be able to perfectly mask the triumph that was ostensibly flowing throughout her entire being. The only outward sign of it was a radiant aura that seemed to simply shine through her whole body, from her head to her toes.

"You know," he answered, his voice choked with anger. "My _cloak_. My _wand_."

She turned away from him then, back to her notes. "If you want it back," she said, her voice rather smug as she picked her quill back up, "You'll have to make a few concessions."

He set his jaw. "What?" he said impatiently. "Which concessions?"

"First, you will continue acting as if we were in our normal friendship," she began.

He stiffened. There was no longer any doubt in his mind- she had been using him all along for his fame, just as he had used her for her brains. It unexpectedly stung. Still, the cloak- it was acceptable. "Alright-"

"Secondly," she continued, ignoring him completely, "there will be no questioning what I tell you about who I am, what I'm doing, what I'm feeling, ever again. Take- or at least pretend to take- what I say about myself as fact, always. Even if you question me, don't you dare go around investigating my actions."

Basically no snooping. He nodded once again. That sounded agreeable.

"Lastly," her voice took on a slippery, malevolent and sly texture. "I don't have to do _anything_. I'm not accountable for anything." Her eyes flickered back up to his. "But I can do _anything._"

There were many ways to interpret the last statement, all of which she would no doubt deviously take advantage of sooner or later down the road. If he accepted, there would be no balance in this relationship.

"If I don't agree?"

"Your wand will mysteriously turn up in the headmaster's office," she replied. "And any _priori incantatem_ performed will reveal attempted dark magic." Her eyes turned to him. In a low voice, she continued. "You'll be implicated, if not expelled."

Though Harry had no clue what Priori Incantatem was, he realized the severity of her threat. And when he looked into her eyes, he realized there _never _had been any balance in the relationship.

"Well?" Hermione asked, her eyes full of sadistic glee. "What'll it be?"

* * *

Hehehe, Hermione blackmailing Harry... where will it go from here?

So? You like it? Or you don't? How do you think Harry should respond? Please review, I'll try my hardest to respond to every signed review.


End file.
